


The Rose and the Thorn

by Ambyrfire



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Blood Drinking, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Abuse, Self-Worth Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Trauma, vague use of politics and military strategy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 16:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9769712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambyrfire/pseuds/Ambyrfire
Summary: The dust settles after the end of the war between Vampires and Humans.Inaho Kaizuka, suspended somewhere between humanity and the Other, suffers the consequences of a body not built for the power of Aldnoah.Slaine Troyard, risen from nothing to become the leader of Vampires and then cast down, a falling star in the darkness, waits for death.Blood divides them, blood connects them. Around them, the tide of war rises.They may need each other more than they know.





	1. Black Rose

_“At last”_

Those were the words that ran through Slaine’s mind as he felt the silver knife strike home in his gut and sink in, visceral and killing cold. Not, perhaps, what one would expect from a prideful vampire knight just defeated by a human. But Slaine was tired, so tired… he had been waiting for this moment for a very long time. His other goals had withered and curled up and fallen away one by one, until the only thing left to him was the release of his final sleep.

 

He smiled at Kaizuka as he felt his body go limp. Perhaps the man thought it strange– Slaine didn’t really care. He was grateful to Kaizuka for this at least, for granting him rest after everything else had ended. For doing what he could not, and removing him once he became useless.

 

His senses went dark swiftly, so he did not feel the arms that caught him as he fell, and lowered him gently to the ground.

 

  * ••



 

Slaine had not expected to wake up at all, so it wasn’t so much the silver chains binding him to the chair that surprised him as the fact that he was even alive to register the dull burn against his skin.

 

There were voices… someone– no, more than one person– talking. About… him?

 

–“dispose of this creature. It would be vastly preferable if we could, but that vampire Queen would loose her hordes upon us if we do.”

 

“I doubt she, the champion of the peace, would go so far– but the settlement may be more in our favor if we have her gratitude.”

 

“Is it not dangerous to keep it alive all the same?”

 

“Regardless, our hands are tied. In any case, I trust that Kaizuka will be able to handle most issues that arise.”

 

He almost hadn’t noticed the muzzle. He probably wouldn’t have, if it hadn’t been for the silver bar behind his fangs, like a bit, scorching his tongue. Once it registered, he wanted to tear the filthy thing off of his face and spit until the vile taste was gone– but he was too weak, too drained, to move. Much less overcome the effect of silver.

The place where Kaizuka had stabbed him still throbbed. Even if he had been at full strength, the silver-made wound would have been difficult to heal– and now, bound and weakened, it was far beyond him to close the gaping hole. It bled sluggishly.

He should have been dead by now. Why was he still here?

 

The voices hadn’t stopped. But now they died down, dragging his attention back to the words.

 

“Then the matter is settled. Have that thing taken away to its cage.”

 

They weren’t going to execute him? Why?

 

If he’d had the strength, and if it hadn’t been for all that damned silver, he might have fought back as they dragged him away. If he had the strength. That was beyond him now.

 

  * ••



 

Inaho braced himself against the wall with one hand, rubbing futilely at his leg with the other. The pain was nearly constant now. Usually in the past, it had faded at least somewhat after a while. Before the war, and even during it.

 

Now, it hadn’t lessened even slightly for a fortnight.

 

Concealing everything– the limp, the hesitation and deliberate caution behind all his movements– from Yuki was becoming ever more difficult as it went on. He had started to become used to the steady pain, but there were moments– like this one– when the lightning wrapping his bones became too sharp to bear.

 

He bit back a hiss between clenched teeth.

 

That final fight with Troyard had been… far more than difficult. He had pushed himself to his limits– past them, even. And he had succeeded in striking that final blow.

 

But yet…

 

There had been a strange reticence in Troyard’s movements. As though the battle mattered little to him. He had left many openings, carelessly missed numerous chances to strike Inaho down.

 

Or rather… not “missed.” Inaho knew how Troyard fought, and that laziness was so unlike him that Inaho could only see it as intentional. Troyard had deliberately avoided chances to make fatal hits.

 

That left the question: why? He may have had no intention of killing Troyard, but Troyard had no way of knowing that.

 

A fresh lance of agony shot up his muscles, and he fell to his knees with a gasp. He beat back the impulse to collapse into a fetal curl on the ground. Instead, he pushed himself back to his feet, one hand to the wall for balance, the other fisted at his side. When he relaxed his fingers, there were new-moon crescents marked into his palm by his nails.

 

He could handle this. He had fought this way for long enough. He could live with it as well.

 

  * ••



 

The silver cuffs where blistering his wrists. Slaine could feel it. Along with the ache across his belly from the fresh scar there, broad and raw and ridged. The wound had closed, but that was all. The blood they had given him was thin and old. Not strong enough to heal him completely. Which was, of course, why they had given it to him. They wanted him weak, in pain, subdued.

 

Well, it wasn’t as if he wasn’t intimately familiar with subjugation.

 

— _Fangs sinking into his throat as he cried out and struggled, small human limbs too weak to fight off the attacker eagerly draining the blood from his body_ —

 

He closed his eyes and breathed the memory away. There was enough recent pain in him that he didn’t need to dredge up old ones. The silver would still make him feel sick and weak even if he’d been born a vampire.

 

The distant, faint sounds of doors opening and footsteps reached his ears. He slowly and gingerly pushed himself upright, propping himself against the cold stones of the wall. There was a moment’s respite to brace himself for the arrival of the humans. No, not “humans.” There was only one set of footsteps approaching. Were they so confident in his weakness that they were willing to approach him alone?

 

Well. They weren’t wrong to be confident. Slaine doubted he could even stand, much less attack and take down a trained Protector.

 

Wait. There was something… _off_ about the steps approaching. The gait was… halting. Limping. Uneven. Slaine’s eyes narrowed. Weakened he might be, but who would be so foolish as to approach even a weakened vampire while injured?

 

The rich, heady scent of human hit his nose and his heart sped up feebly. Ridiculous, really, that his instincts would try to kick in _now_. They were easy to ignore, however. He’d had years of practice.

 

The steps finally reached the door, and keys jangled in the lock. Slaine watched the door as it opened, and–

 

There was Kaizuka. Just standing there. Staring down at him. Slaine bared his fangs reflexively.

 

“I see you’re not dead, then,” Kaizuka said with infuriating evenness.

 

“So, you’re going to interrogate me? Get on with it already.”

 

“There will not be any interrogations.”

 

Slaine scrutinized that flat expression, trying to discern any hints as to why he was here. “Why keep me alive, then, if not to torture me for secrets?”

 

Kaizuka was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, there was something… oddly measured about his tone. “Seylum wanted you to live.”

 

The silver chains clinked faintly as Slaine stiffened. What? The Princess… she did not… hate him? Even after everything he had done, the battles he had fought in and later led? All the humans he had killed– and vampires too. The devastation he had wrought…

 

Even after all that, she still wanted him to live?

 

The tears were rolling down his face before he even noticed them welling in his eyes. He quickly looked away, even though it was far too late to conceal it from Kaizuka. Not that the man’s expression had changed as he stared.

 

Silver burned through his clothes as he wrapped his arms around himself. His belly ached, his limbs trembled with weakness, his chest shook with sobs that pushed at his ability to contain them. It wasn’t fair, he should be dead now, and yet here he was, wounded and chained and caged. Again, weak. Nothing.

 

Due to some vindictive malice the universe directed at him, Kaizuka was the lone witness.

 

He’d been deceiving himself, to ever let himself think that he could be anything more than the dirt ground beneath the boots of the strong.

 

His eyes flicked back to Kaizuka. He could feel the venom seething in his own gaze. “So,” he spat, “enjoy watching your enemy brought low?” He could feel another tear trickle down his cheek even as he spoke, and bared his fangs in a fruitless attempt to counteract it.

 

Kaizuka stared down at him, eye empty and cold. “No.”

 

That was all. No inflection, no mocking, no gloating. “Isn’t that just wonderful of you,” he hissed. “Why are you even here?” Slaine shot to his feet in one smooth motion, hitting the end of his chains with a jarring chaos of metal-on-metal.

 

Kaizuka twitched back slightly, but the satisfaction was crushed under a wave of agony from his abdomen. He collapsed to the ground. Curling in on himself, Slaine wrapped his arms around his belly. The pain dulled slowly, in surges, each one leaving him barely the time to catch a breath.

 

The trembling had worsened. His fangs pricked at his lip, and the burning in his parched throat clawed at him. He raised his head to aim a burning glare at Kaizuka. “I’m happy I took your eye,” he seethed.

 

“No blood will be sent today,” Kaizuka said, and left without another word.

 

Slaine relaxed slowly from his tormented curl, stones cold against his bones. He let his forehead loll to rest on the floor. Blood, more thin old blood that would restore him just enough to keep him weakened. As if withholding it was a punishment.

 

Blood, blood, he’d never been given the choice of whether he wished to rely on it or not, but here it was: survive off of the life of others, or die. Blood, red as the roses the bloomed in the Princess’ garden. They were beautiful roses. Huge, rich and bright in color. Long, elegant stems and sharp, shapely thorns. The thorns that would prick you, if you were not careful.

 

Red, red roses, and deadly thorns to draw blood from pure, tender skin…

 

Slaine shifted restlessly. If only there was some other source of scent in this accursed place, maybe Kaizuka’s damn musk wouldn’t hang like a malignant fog. Maybe it was simply that Slaine was used to vampires, their cleaner, simpler smells… or maybe everything about Kaizuka was specifically tailored to offend him.

 

He would have been unsurprised if that was indeed the case.

 

  * ••



 

Inaho rolled back and sprang to his feet, wooden practice sword braced and ready to block. Strands of hair stuck to his sweat-dampened forehead.

 

Calm recovered from his failed lunge and brought his own practice sword down in an overhead swing. The motion left his sides wide open, so Inaho darted forward, shield up to catch the blow. The impact jarred his arm as he struck for Calm’s unprotected side–

 

His leg gave way beneath his weight. He hit the dirt with a grunt of pain, muscle memory raising his shield to protect his face and neck. Calm did not (as he should have, in this practice match) press the advantage. Instead, he dropped his weapons and knelt by Inaho’s side.

 

“You alright? I’ve never seen you fall like that, what happened there?”

 

“I’m fine,” Inaho said tersely. He pushed himself upright, ignoring Calm’s offered hand.

 

His leg quivered when he put weight on it, jabbing pain striking up his muscles. He gritted his teeth. There was no escaping it; he simply was not fit for battle in this condition.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, after lots of procrastination and delays, here is my InaSure fanbook fic! Read this and the rest at orangebatsanctuary.tumblr.com !
> 
> This was supposed to go up yesterday, and then go a chapter a day until the 17, the day before the fanbook game (look to the fanbook tumblr for more on that!) but the archive was down last night… so there will be two chapters in one day, and then one a day after.
> 
> (Also… my valentine's fic from last year, the one that hasn't been updated since? I'm planning to update that one today! So you can expect to see Garden of Roses chapter 2 soon.)


	2. White Rose

“Do you think I can’t hear you limping?”

 

Inaho stared down at the chained vampire. It had been more than a month since the end of the war, but the vampire still wore the same blood-marred clothes it had been dragged in with. He pressed his lips into a thin line. “I’m not limping.”

 

“Right now you aren’t,” the vampire snorted. “But I just have to listen to your footsteps any time you think you’re out of earshot to know that there is something wrong.”

 

Inaho’s right leg chose that moment to throb. He carefully did not shift weight off of it. “Probing my weaknesses is pointless.”

 

The vampire looked away and sighed. “I’m not looking for weakness. I can’t help being curious. Any normal injury would have healed by now. What’s wrong with you?”

 

“Why should I tell you.” Inaho did not ask it as a question.

 

The vampire shrugged. “Don’t pretend that I can pose an actual threat to you, now. You beat me. That’s the end of it. I don’t even know what’s going on out there now.”

 

Inaho didn’t bother to respond. The attempt at manipulation was too transparently obvious to merit reaction.

 

The vampire did not appear frustrated, to Inaho’s mild surprise. Instead, its expression took on a weary, accepting air. “Very well. I’ll stop asking questions.”

 

“You don’t usually give up so easily.”

 

This brought out a bitter laugh. “I had something to fight for, then. Not any longer.”

 

Inaho regarded him. “This is a remarkably weak display for the one who united all of Vers’ vampires behind him.”

 

“Do you think I don’t know? I’m finished. Done with. I can’t even beg you for death.”

 

“Yes.”

 

The vampire turned empty eyes to him. “You do not understand how little I deserve her mercy. She should despise me. I did not merely use and betray her, I used and betrayed the hundreds and thousands who followed me on my fool’s quest.”

 

“I won’t kill you, vampire.”

 

It flinched as though struck. “I know. I’m not… asking.”

 

“You are not allowed to _ask_ for anything. You are a prisoner of the Protectorate, under my charge.”

 

The vampire hunched over, pulling its legs up to its chest and clutching its chained wrists close. “I’m aware,” it whispered.

 

“Then you must also be aware than you mean nothing, here. Requests will be denied. Nothing will be given you other than the minimum necessary supply of blood. Do not overstep your bounds.”

 

Troyard said nothing. Stayed curled up, hair falling in a curtain that concealed his face. Inaho turned his back and strode out of the room, very deliberately not limping.

 

As the door slammed shut, he heard the edge of a sound– low, miserable sound. A sob. He walked faster, ignoring the pain in his legs. His footsteps rang in his ears, loud enough to ensure he heard nothing else.

 

  * ••



 

Slaine stayed curled up, hunched against the wall, long after the tears had ceased. Kaizuka had, with the same ruthless efficiency he possessed in battle, sliced open Slaine’s wounds and prodded them with precise, needling points. Stupid, stupid of him to let Kaizuka’s words hurt like this, but…

 

They hurt because they were true. They weren’t taunts– Kaizuka did not taunt. Kaizuka spoke truth. Cold, hard, inescapable truth.

 

_“The Princess!” He had almost wept with relief, then, as the remnants of her power faded from the air._

_“What do you want with her?”_

_Slaine’s eyes had snapped to Orange. Orange was standing braced, low. A fighting pose. Slaine bared his fangs. “Why should I tell you?”_

_“She fights with us now.”_

_“You’re using her?!” Oh how innocent he had been. The righteous, naïve rage that the idea had summoned forth from his foolish heart._

_“If I am, do you have a problem with that?”_

_Slaine had seen Orange’s hand twitch, and drew his knife with vampiric speed. “Are you my enemy?”_

_He was met with a cocked crossbow._

_Orange’s eyes were filled with hatred, cold and flat as a sheet of stone. “You are a vampire. You are my enemy.”_

_And Slaine had been too slow with his knife, because Orange had sunk a crossbow bolt in his thigh and vanished before his scream of pain and rage could escape his lips._

 

The puckered scar that that bolt had left on his leg. The lash marks on his chest. The fresh mark on his belly. All reminders. Reminders that he would _never_ be one of them. No one could ever care for a monster like him, and the ones who tried came away worse for it.

 

“Vampire.”

 

Slaine lifted his head.

 

The guard kicked a bowl of blood through the space at the bottom of the cell door. Half of it sloshed onto the filthy straw.

 

Slaine didn’t move.

 

The guard made a sound of derision and turned on his heel. Slaine was left alone once more.

 

Vampire. Corrupt. Broken. Defiled. Traitor. Murderer. Enemy. That was all he would ever be. Being kept in this cage here was a fitting fate. It was better for everyone for him to be sealed away, like this.

 

 

  * ••



 

Pre-dawn light seeped through the shutters, foggy and cold. Inaho lay on his bunk and stared at the slats above him.

 

No one else in the room was awake, yet. Breathing was the only sound in the quiet room. A half-dozen different rhythms, out of time and shifting, always shifting.

 

Inaho twisted his fist into the sheets.

 

The noise the vampire had made, barely a sob, more of a weak, wounded cry of agony, echoed in his head. Washing wouldn’t make it go away. Reading wouldn’t make it go away. Inventory work wouldn’t make it go away.

 

His eye throbbed. He gritted his teeth, pressing a palm over the scar cutting across his eyelid. Rolling over onto his side, he breathed deeply. Slowly, the pain ebbed.

 

Lives, silent and sleeping. So many, around him. If he listened closely enough, he could almost hear the little soft thumps of beating hearts. Cages of bone and flesh, quivering and straining and writhing for nothing more than to keep perpetuating their existence on this earth. Fragile. So fragile.

 

The light through the shutters had strengthened a degree. Still dull and blue, but slowly clearing away the obscurity of darkness. Inaho rolled onto his back again to stare at the same slats.

 

Then–

 

A horn. Echoing through the half light, low and sonorous. Inaho bolted upright from the bunk. The alarm. Calling the Protectors to assemble, to perform the duty that was their title.

 

The horn rang out again.

 

An attack? Now? The peace had been unstable, but he hadn’t expected the first strike to come so soon–

 

By the time the third and final horn sounded, he was already pulling on his boots. “Calm,” he said, “get up. We must assemble.”

 

Calm staggered dazedly down from the upper bunk, rubbing sleep from his eyes even as his brow furrowed. “A call? But it can’t be, we’re at peace”–

 

“War does not end by command,” Inaho commented. The room’s other four occupants were even less alert than Calm. Inaho ignored them, leaving the room for the courtyard. He placed his feet carefully, pacing himself through the twinges in his legs.

 

Captain Magbaredge stood on the platform in the courtyard center, eyes scanning the already swiftly growing crowd. A babble of talk hung over the yard like a morning mist. Inaho worked his way through to the front, narrowing his eye and using a judiciously placed shoulder when necessary. He ignored the twinge every time he pushed.

 

_“Where are those vamps? Wasn’t that the horn?”_

_“Are we under attack?”_

_“What’s happening?”_

Inaho did not join the speculation. It was obvious. As the courtyard filled, words blurred into a mass of hushed voices. Until–

 

“Nao? Do you know what’s going on?”

 

“There was an attack at the border,” he said as Yuki fought her way through the crowd to stand beside him.

 

“There was?! Where? When?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“You don’t– what do you mean you don’t know?” Her voice rose as she spoke until her last word came out in an indignant squeak.

 

“I have not heard the specifics. But the horn was sounded. There are no attacking forces here. So they must have attacked at the border.”

 

Yuki was stunned silent for a long moment. “What… the border? Attack? Is… what about the peace?”

 

“Peace is a word,” he answered as the Captain stepped forward and gestured for silence.

 

“Everyone!” The crowd fell silent. Magbaredge nodded approvingly, resting one hand on her sword belt. “I know you are all concerned. You have been roused from your beds without knowing why. Know this: we are not under attack. There is no imminent threat to this fort. But there is a threat to all of us. A greater one.” Her tone became grim. “Outriders in the small hours of the night discovered the traces of a vampire attack on the border, twenty leagues from here. They did not sight any of the traitors that did it– the attack appears to have occurred during the late hours. However, even though we face no enemies clawing at our gates”– her eyes scanned the crowd– “We must be ready. We are Protectors; we protect these people, this land. So form up! I am sending out patrols to all along the border. Messengers have already been sent to the capitol– reinforcements will be close behind you. Some of you, stay here– we need boots on the ground watching this place. Patrols three, five, and ten, move out! I want eyes on our people and eyes on our lands. Clydesdale outriders, saddle up. I need you on relay and scouting. All other captains, report to the briefing room”

 

Next to him, Yuki breathed in sharply. “Alright, Nao. Let’s go.”

 

Marito tilted his head at them as they entered. Mizusaki looked up, and then back to the stack of reports spread in front of her on the table. The Captain stood at the back of the room, eyes scanning her officers as they gathered. She and Mizusaki shared a long look. Then, she stepped forward.

 

“I understand that you are all confused by this,” she began. “The alarm is not usually sounded unless there is direct danger of attack. However, this news is grave enough that I felt that raising the alarm is necessary.” She paused, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. “The town of Grenhal has been ransacked.” Captain Magbaredge’s face was grim as she spoke. “Most of the townspeople have disappeared, but twelve… mutilated corpses were discovered. All of them had numerous fang marks. All the evidence points to this being a vampire attack.”

 

Inaho’s hands tightened into fists. Vampires, breaking the peace. Asseylum had refused to use Dominion a second time.

 

“We must mobilize our forces. Everyone, gather your units. We must hold the line. Marito, Kaizuka, have your people ready to march by tomorrow noon.” Inaho made to rise, and the Captain shook her head. Her expression was grim. “Not you. Kaizuka senior.” He felt Yuki’s hand come down on his shoulder, and shrugged her off. “Dismissed!” She called, and the meeting dispersed.

 

Inaho had to brace a hand on the table to stand. He gritted his teeth. They were right. He was too weak for the field, like this.

 

“Kaizuka junior.” Magbaredge came up behind him. “I’m sorry.”

 

“There is no need,” he said curtly. He did not look back as he walked away.

 

-

 

“The foothills,” Calm muttered, sounding displeased. “Couldn’t they send me to a garrison that isn’t the asscrack of nowhere?”

 

“At least it’s out of the way,” Inko pointed out. “Ridgebend, on the other hand, is smack in the middle of everything!”

 

“Aww Inko, we’ll be fine!” Nina elbowed her. “Anyway, we’ll have big strong Rayet along to protect us! Isn’t that right, Rayet?”

 

Rayet _humph_ ed.

 

Inaho twisted his hands together, listening to the tendons pop and shift.

 

“Inaho?” Inko was giving him that concerned expression again.

 

“I am certain you will all be fine.”

 

Calm clapped him on the shoulder. Hard. Inaho bit his cheek against the bolt of pain that shot down his arm. “See? Inaho believes in us!”

 

Inaho did not shift from his position. He watched them. He watched everyone, as Protectors and wagoners and logisticians and stable hands and smiths scurried back and forth across the courtyard like many ants. A day ago, this place had been the home of sparrows and horse dung. Was this all it took?

 

These barracks weren’t homes. They were a place built for war. Without it, they had no purpose. They’d stand empty. War had seeped into every whorl of wood grain and ceiling joist and cracked flagstone. It could not be separated from what the buildings had been, what they were, what they always would be.

 

Was it much of a wonder, then, that no one wished to be near them once the fighting stopped? You couldn’t live like that. With war ever on the mind.

 

The sun had fallen low in the sky. Inaho pulled himself upright, grip white-knuckled around a wooden post, and limped off into the shadows of the hall to find his bunk.

 

  * ••



 

The stone was cold against his cheek. Slaine could have moved. Could have pulled away from the wall. But what would be the point?

 

Kaizuka would come again today. Slaine closed his eyes. If he stayed here long enough, still, silent, would the cold seep through him? Envelop the whole of him, claiming every part of his body until there was nothing left of him but coldness.

 

Footsteps echoed in the passage outside. His eyes snapped open. No limp, footstep footstep footstep, many pairs of feet approaching–

 

He twisted to his feet as the lock clicked and the door slammed open. Too late.

 

Rough hands forced the muzzle into his mouth, locked the silver collar around his throat, bound his hands behind his back. He fought back, knowing it was foolish, knowing it was doomed. A violent backhand across the face was his reward. Dazed, silver burning into his skin, he was manhandled from the cell.

 

They dragged him down cold stone halls and shoved him to his knees in front of a man in a heavy, dark uniform. The corner of his eye caught Kaizuka, standing against the wall, looking… oddly tense.

 

A man with a wrinkle-ridged face squinted down at him. “So this is the vampire?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“And you can use it to find more knowledge of Aldnoah?”

 

“With enough time– we can steal the secrets of the vampires”–

 

Slaine froze. He had heard the stories, vampires starved and tortured to a slow, terrible death in the bowels of the Protectorate’s stronghold. Prisoners who, if they were ever recovered alive, were never the same.

 

“Our work has stopped since the end of the war, but we need subjects! The vampires are not trustworthy, they will attack again, we must be prepared”–

 

The man waved a hand at his robed companion. “I know this. Your repetition is of no use to me.” His eyes slid over Slaine as though he were examining a horse he wished to buy. “You believe you can make use of this one?”

 

“Yes sir, yes sir, a young vampire in its prime, what more could we want from a specimen?”

 

“Very well, then.” Slaine let his eyes fall shut in resignation. “You shall”–

 

“Sir, this is a waste,” Kaizuka interrupted. Slaine’s head jerked back up.

 

The man arched an eyebrow. “A waste? Explain yourself, Kaizuka.”

 

“No past experiments have come close to discovering how to transmit Aldnoah from a vampire without some kind of biting and transformation. One more vampire will not change that. Your researchers waste both their time and energy in trying.”

 

“Shut your mouth, aberration!” sputtered the robed man. “You know nothing!”

 

“I know you won’t find anything.”

 

“You attempt to call my plan worthless, yet I have not heard your proposal for how to put this wretch to use!”

 

“I have one,” Kaizuka said levelly. “Our border is still embattled. I would be an instrumental piece there. With a vampire assisting me, I will be that much stronger. We need every able-bodied fighter we can field.”

 

“Are you proposing,” the man squealed, “that we put the rebels’ former leader out at the front lines fighting them? Where escape would be a mere matter of slipping away?”

 

“I can control this vampire.”

 

“Control it? How? I demand PROOF”–

 

The wrinkled man held up a hand, and his companion went silent. The man spoke. “So, Kaizuka. You believe you can control this thing? Like a trained hound?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

A snarl rose in Slaine’s throat at that, even with the muzzle, but he bit it back. Now was not the moment to incite the humans’ anger on him.

 

“Then, Kaizuka, you may have the vampire. You will use it as a source of Aldnoah. It will fight with you on the battlefield, against its own, damaging their morale. It will remain collared with silver, as an extra measure of security. If it escapes, you shall face the consequences, Kaizuka.”

 

Kaizuka nodded. “Yes, General Hakkinien.”

 

“And, Kaizuka– I will be watching your efforts with great interest.”

 

Kaizuka bowed.

 

Slaine blinked, feeling as though the world had been tilted off-kilter. Had Kaizuka just… defended him? Protected him from unimaginable torture? It didn’t make sense. His enemy. Keeping him from harm.

 

He was taken back to his cell, and he sagged limply in the hands of his captors. The bruises would fade in hours.

 

Kaizuka undid the straps of the muzzle and drew it off of him. Slaine coughed, gagging and shuddering. “Why–“ he rasped out, “why did you do that?”

 

For a long moment, Kaizuka said nothing. “You asked me about the limp before. I did not answer. Now, I’m answering you. I need Aldnoah. You’re a vampire. You are more useful to me nearby, in the thick of battle, than being buried in a cage having your liver pecked at.”

 

“You never asked me if I wanted to help you. Fight for you.”

 

Inaho stared at him, eye flat. “But you will.”

 

Slaine gritted his teeth. Their gazes held for a long, long moment. If anything outside made a sound, Slaine didn’t hear it.

 

Then, he lowered his eyes.

 

“Tomorrow I will come to collect you. Be ready.”

 

Slaine watched as Kaizuka walked away. He reached up and held his arm. Slowly, he curled over, head hanging, arm curled over his chest.

 

  * ••



 

Slaine had been awake before dawn. More precisely, he had not been asleep at all. He had paced from one end of his chain to the other until he realized what a waste of energy it was. Then, he sat, back against the wall, and watched the stone bricks in the hall outside.

 

Darkness inside echoed darkness outside. He could feel the footsteps of the guards on the ground, hear the small sounds of birds fluttering through the grey, and little animals digging and seeking through the dirt.

 

The silver collar burned, cold and acid, against his throat. He wouldn’t be rid of it anytime soon. A dog must be restrained.

 

The open air. He’d see it again. Soon. Odd, really. He had thought– he had thought he’d never see the sky again, feel the wind in his hair and the sun on his face.

 

_By rights_ , he thought, _I should be dead. I knew I could not beat the Angel of Death again, not then, not in that condition. I did not want to. I accepted the fact of my own end. Welcomed it. A miserable resolution to an equally miserable existence. Why would I fear hell? I carry a perfectly-tuned personal hell inside me, with me wherever I go. Death is the last, the only, escape_.

 

Yet here he was. Waiting for Kaizuka to arrive. To drag him back out into a world he had thought had left him behind for good. And he would go. Willingly, as a dog lured by a meaty bone. He could not, it seemed, live without the sky.

 

Perhaps he could die with it.

 

He heard, distantly, hooves. Kaizuka was here, then. The guards hadn’t started moving yet. Funny. They were supposed to be in charge of controlling him, yet were ignorant of what happened right outside of their own building. Human senses were a farce next to the unnatural honing his ears and eyes carried.

 

Boots thundered down the halls. He closed his eyes and swallowed.

 

The cell door slammed open. Slaine didn’t resist as they dragged him to his feet, wrenched his arms behind his back and cuffed them. It didn’t matter if their grip was too tight. If the way they handled him was rough to the point of pain. If the silver burned his mouth as the muzzle straps tightened behind his head.

 

There was no way of knowing what he might be headed into. But it would be nothing like he had lived before.

 

Kaizuka barely spared a glance at him. At the pointless spark of defiance rising in his chest, he glared at Kaizuka’s back. The man remained focused on his horse. Slaine gritted his teeth around the bit in his mouth. _Won’t even look at me? That bored by your new toy already? Assuming your dog will obediently come to heel?_

_Then you’re right._

 

He hadn’t died. If there was a reason out there, then, for him to live…

Being Kaizuka’s pet was no reason. Slaine wasn’t looking for one. If Kaizuka’s knife had carved open the arteries and veins of his throat rather than the soft flesh of his belly, he wouldn’t have fought it. Bleeding out in the dirt, open sky wide and free above him, was a just, fitting end.

 

A spear butt hit him between the shoulder blades, and he staggered, his bound hands yanking against the cuffs as he instinctively tried to balance himself. Perhaps, if he hadn’t been bound, hadn’t been weakened by injury and deprivation, he could have recovered. But he felt it, knew that the push had been just enough. His feet went out from under him–

 

Kaizuka snapped out a hand and caught the rope tied to his collar, yanking him back upright. Slaine staggered, gagging with the force on his windpipe, but regained his footing.

 

“Don’t slow us down with transparent attempts to torment it,” Kaizuka said, tone flinty.

 

Slaine looked up at him, as far as he dared look away from the road and risk falling again. The eye on Kaizuka’s left was covered. Slaine knew why. Knew, intimately, the sensation of his shield hitting Kaizuka’s face, sliding through skin and across bone.

 

What he could see of Kaizuka’s face was empty. No sign of how he had noticed Slaine stumble.

 

Kaizuka needed him?

 

Slaine snorted under his breath, shifting his jaw around the muzzle to give his tongue relief from the burning silver.

 

Kaizuka had chosen poorly.

 

The sun was high in the sky, carving dark shadows and bright highlights onto every surface, by the time a Protectorate outpost rose in the distance. Slaine breathed deeply around the bit, still tasting the sourness of sweat in the back of his throat. At least if he didn’t breathe it in through his nose, it wouldn’t hit him hard enough to make him gag.

 

Dust and noise rose, filling the air as his escort approached the outpost. Slaine swallowed, biting back a cough as the grit filled his throat. The scream of the gate hinges shivered down Slaine’s spine. Eyes down, don’t provoke, don’t attract attention…

 

He was dragged across the courtyard and forced to his knees, lead tied to a post. Slowly, he let himself slump against it. He didn’t dare stretch out his aching legs, but relieving some of the burden helped. He kept his eyes down. His ears were sharp enough to hear every whisper, every mutter, every gasp, but it didn’t require particularly sharp senses to pick up on the fact that he was not, in any way, welcome here.

 

_“Is that the vampire?”_

_“Where are its fangs? I can’t see them around that muzzle.”_

_“There’s blood all over it! Whose blood is that?”_

_“Kaizuka is welcome to that thing. Birds of a feather…”_

 

Slaine raised an eyebrow, just a little, at that last one. Birds of a feather? Him and Kaizuka?

 

He’d been away from lowness for too long. Hadn’t forgotten what being spit on and stared at felt like, but… it had become less familiar. He closed his eyes.

 

His throat was dry, parched. But he was well used to that. Never truly sated… never truly free…

 

“Troyard.”

 

He jerked upright. A snarl of “Kaizuka” rose on his tongue. Pointless, with the muzzle on. He let it slip away. Lowering his head, he shaped himself into the practiced posture of submission.

 

Kaizuka stepped behind him and tugged at the muzzle straps. Testing them? Slaine held in a sigh–

 

The muzzle fell away from his face. He gagged, spitting, mouth free of the burn of silver. No muzzle? Here, in a compound full of humans?

 

“You trust me this much?” Slaine rasped.

 

There was a click. The cuffs came loose around his wrists. Then, Kaizuka came to stand in front of him again. Looking him in the eye, Kaizuka reached out and seized a fistful of his hair.

 

Slaine gritted his teeth. The stinging pain in his scalp made him squint, but he refused to show anything else to this man.

 

“I don’t trust you,” Kaizuka said evenly. “I think you aren’t stupid or suicidal enough to attempt anything in a courtyard full of people who have been trained to kill your kind from the time they could walk.”

Slaine hissed.

 

Kaizuka regarded him, and then– let go and stood, turning away. “Get up,” he said over his shoulder.

 

Slaine flexed his fingers, turning and stretching his wrists. The silver had left raised, red rashes behind, wrapped around his wrists. A reminder. He cradled one arm against his chest, rubbing the inflamed skin gingerly with his thumb, closed his eyes, and sighed.

 

Then, he stood, gripping the post for support. Kaizuka had not waited for him, and was halfway across the yard, only half visible among the back and forth bustle of people and animals. Slaine kept his eyes down as he followed.

 

The destination was some kind of stock room. Kaizuka handed him a change of clothes without glancing at him. He retreated back into the corner, one hand going to his collar. Kaizuka dug through some other pile of equipment, back turned.

 

Slaine looked away, determinedly facing the wall. He undid the buttons with swift, practiced motions, shrugging out of the shirt with a grimace. Half red, half black with blood, with more holes and tears than he could count after so many weeks of unending rough wear. Rent apart in the belly by Inaho’s silver knife.

 

Slaine let it drop to the ground. It couldn’t even be used for rags. It might be good for kindling, if nothing else. The pants were a similar matter.  

 

He tugged at the ends of his fresh sleeves, looking over himself. This barely passed as a uniform, wasn’t one really, just shared general shape and color with the rest of its kind.

 

It was a quiet relief to finally be out of his ragged, bloodstained old uniform. Vampires may not need to bathe nearly as frequently as humans did, that was certain, but wearing the same clothes for weeks and months on end left him deeply uncomfortable, to say the least.

 

Perhaps it was an old habit.

 

He turned back to face the room– and found Kaizuka staring blankly at him. _How long_ – he cut the thought off. No point.

 

Having his hands free was a novelty in and of itself. He tugged the sleeves down to cover the red, raw bands left by the months and months of silver manacles. He wasn’t free, not in any true sense of the word, but this still tasted enough like it that he was left strangely uncertain of what to say and do.

 

Kaizuka did not give that uncertainty time to set in. “Come here.”

 

Slaine obediently stepped forwards. Kaizuka snapped the lead off the collar. Slaine’s shoulders slumped with relief. At least he would be only collared, rather than collared and leashed like some kind of pet hound.

 

It helped the delusion of liberty stay intact.

 

Slaine twisted his fingers together to keep himself from tugging at the neck of his shirt up to cover the silver collar. It was solid iron, coated with a thick layer of silver, and he could feel it biting at his skin, slowly leeching his energy away.

 

He would get used to it. He always did.

 

“Follow me,” Kaizuka ordered. He led Slaine down a set of stone stairs. The air grew thick and chill. Slaine shivered. Kaizuka, he noted, had surreptitiously pulled his sleeves down over his hands. Cold-averse, then?

 

They stopped in front of the bars of a cell. The bars gleamed silver in the dimness. The door was open. Slaine breathed deeply. Then, he stepped forward, through the door.

 

And– Kaizuka followed. Slaine whipped around to stare at him, backing up warily. Kaizuka had no weapon drawn, though his hand rested tense and ready on the hilt of a knife.

 

“We leave tomorrow at dawn. There will be no delays.” Kaizuka’s voice was sharp, tense. “I brought you here. You know why.” He undid the cuff of his sleeve. “On your knees. Keep your hands behind you.”

 

Slaine shivered, and complied. He was well used to that order. The intent, here, was different, but the words…

 

In one rough movement, Kaizuka shoved the sleeve up his arm, exposing the pale inside of his elbow. He stepped forward, stopping just before Slaine. “Do not,” he said, “touch me.”

 

Slaine lowered his head in surrender, but not before he caught a glimpse of Kaizuka’s face. The man looked… oddly pale. It was the low light, more likely than not.

 

Now, he carefully released his instincts. Eyes closed, he could hear the pumping heart, could smell the sweat and flesh and blood in front of him, could almost _taste_ the coppery tang already. He panted. His fangs pricked against his lip. Shuffling forward, his senses guided him to where the vessels thrummed hot and fresh beneath the surface. His eyes opened, taking in the vulnerably soft skin in the crease of Kaizuka’s arm. He tasted the skin with his tongue, salt and sweat and ash. The muscles tensed minutely beneath him. He clenched his fists to keep from reaching to hold the limb in place.

 

He drew his lips back, baring his fangs. Closing his eyes once more, he let the thirst overtake him, and sank them into Kaizuka’s flesh.

 

  * ••



 

Inaho tensed as the vampire’s fangs met his skin. The twin points of pain seared, sharp and hot, knifing up his arm. It took all of his self control to not pull away. His fingers itched to draw the silver knife hanging from his belt and sink it into the vampire’s throat for daring to come near him, to _bite_ him–

 

_No. I am doing this so I can protect them. I must do this_. He violently suppressed a shudder as the vampire’s slick mouth continued to work at the crook of his arm. His heart thudded too quickly in his chest. A burning sensation spread up from the bite, aching and… draining…

 

“That’s enough,” he snapped, holding himself in place by force of will. Yanking away suddenly would only cause worse wounds, even if every second the vampire’s fangs were in him was deeply repulsive.

 

The vampire obeyed immediately. It did not even linger to lick up the blood leaking from the puncture wounds left behind. Instead, it returned to its hunched, lifeless posture, head down, and eyes on the floor. Inaho watched it as he pressed a cloth over the bite. It did not move.

 

His eye narrowed. This was an impressive act. He would not have thought the proud, clever, dangerous vampire prince capable of such a front of servility if he had not seen it with his own eyes.

 

He locked the door behind himself as he left, keeping careful watch on the vampire to guard against any attempt at escape. None occurred.

 

As he went up the stairs, he began to feel it. The difference. He had become so used to pushing back the pain, concealing the limp and flinches and sluggishness. But now…

 

Roiling slowly out from his core, the pain was melting, ice before fire. He bounded up over the last three steps into the courtyard, and landed solidly, balance perfect. He pivoted in place, scanning the yard– there. Weaving through the bustle, he made for a wooden post that held the overhang. Reaching it, he twisted his grip around it and _pulled_. In barely a blink, he was up and on the edge of the roof.

 

“Nao?!” Yuki’s voice rang out from below.

 

He peered down. “Hello, Yuki.”

 

“Get down from there! What are you even doing on the roof?”

 

“Testing something.” However, he complied, shimmying off the edge of the roof and dropping to the ground with a grunt.

 

“Testing? Nao, you should be taking it easy, you’ve already had to do so much for all of us”–

 

“I found a solution. I do not need rest any more.”

 

“Nao… the vampire?”

 

He brushed the roof grit off of his knees. “Yes.”

 

“Nao! That’s not…”

 

“Safe? It is.”

 

“What?! Do you _trust_ a vampire to _not_ kill you at the first opportunity?”

 

“No.” He focused on adjusting the hem of his sleeve. “I can control it,” he repeated.

 

“Control? How?! Nao, that doesn’t make any sense! It tried to destroy all of us!”

“This vampire has some strange attachment to the Queen. It won’t act out against her now.”

 

“It won’t– Nao, that’s ridiculous. And also, you shouldn’t be pushing yourself like this. I don't care if you feel healed up– it’s not going to last forever.”

 

“I will not hide.” He said those words heavy and flat. “I will not stay safe behind these walls while Calm and Inko and you risk everything. Making use of this vampire allows me to battle.”

 

Yuki pressed a frustrated palm to her face, then swept her fingers back through her hair. It left her bangs standing up in a wild tuft. “Nao! This is too dangerous!”

 

“Fighting has always been dangerous.”

 

“That’s not what I mean and you know it! I mean having a, a– filthy leech chained to you constantly!”

 

“You wish to keep me safe. Yes?”

 

“Of course I do, Nao!” Yuki’s voice quivered with too many emotions for Inaho to decrypt.

 

“I also wish to keep you safe, Yuki. I cannot bear to stand aside and watch while you are in danger. If there is anything I can do to help me protect you, I won’t hesitate. Even if it means allowing a vampire my blood.”

 

“Nao…”

 

“Do you understand, then? Why I must do this?”

 

She sighed. “I understand. Why do you think I fight? I’m just afraid for you, Nao. You were so young when it happened…”

 

“Yuki”– he said, gaze snapping up to look at her as he tensed.

 

She hugged him. He stiffened, and then slowly wrapped his arms around her in turn, letting his head rest on her shoulder.

 

Yuki sniffled. “I already failed to protect you then. And again, during the war… your eye”– she made a small, hiccupping sound, like a sob.

 

“It’s alright, Yuki. I’m strong now. I can keep myself safe.”

 

“You shouldn’t have to!” she wailed, holding him tighter. “You shouldn’t have to…” she said again, softer this time.

 

Inaho did not have a response, and so he did not try. Instead, he held on to her, and let her hold him. For a long, silent moment, they stayed that way.

 

Then, Yuki let him go. When he saw her expression, she was smiling. Just a little. “Promise me you’ll be safe?”

 

“I promise, Yuki.”

 

She sighed. “And I promise too. Can’t let myself get hurt if I want to protect you, right?” A little half-hearted laugh left her lips. “Don’t let the vampires bite.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

She looked back over her shoulder and waved as she walked away. Off to her own living quarters, to pack and prepare for the long journeys that loomed on the morrow.

 

“Kaizuka.”

 

“Captain,” he said, turning.

 

“Will you and your vampire be ready to move out at dawn?”

 

Inaho nodded.

 

Magbaredge crossed her arms. “Kaizuka. Are you certain about this?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I’ve never…” she stopped. “You are aware, aren’t you? You are bringing the enemy into our lines. Setting a trap for yourself.”

 

“It is not a trap, Captain.”

 

“Oh?” She eyed him. “What, exactly, makes you place so much trust in”–

 

“Yuki already asked me these questions. I answered her. She can tell you.”

 

“Kaizuka junior,” Magbaredge said, “I am not asking Kaizuka senior. I am asking you.”

 

“The vampire will do as ordered.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“I will ensure it.”

 

“I will not condone torture, Kaizuka.”

 

“There is none involved.”

 

“Good.” Magbaredge faced the yard, looking over the compound as the fading light led the inhabitants to their beds. “I have a responsibility to the people here. To maintain order. To ensure safety. Even from themselves, sometimes. That goes for you, too, Kaizuka junior. You are already… looked upon with suspicion. Have you considered what freeing an infamous vampire leader may imply?”

 

“The vampire is not free. Merely under my watch. And I do not care what others think. I will do what I must.”

 

“You work best when operating on your own,” she sighed. “I won’t ask you to stop now. But Kaizuka”– she paused, and turned to look him in the eye– “Watch your back.”

 

With a solid pat on his shoulder, she left.

 

  * ••



 

Slaine curled up on the stones, shaking. It didn’t hurt, he didn’t hurt anymore, the pain left behind by blades and arrows and boots had melted away before the heat of fresh, live blood flowing through him. Even the relentless thirst, as used as he was to ignoring it, had abated slightly. He pressed his hands over his belly, breathing deeply. It wouldn’t last, it couldn’t last, but _oh_ …

 

He felt so warm.

 

Tomorrow he’d be headed for the front lines of battle once more. Against vampires, this time. If he had ever felt at home among them, perhaps he would have thought of them as “his own.” Lucky he didn’t, then. What was more anonymous blood on his hands? Vampire or human, in the end they all bled red.

 

He pressed his hands over his face, nails digging into his skin. It was sick, wrong, _he_ was sick and wrong for loving it, the taste so coppery rich on his tongue and the smell thick in the air and the vibrant red color. But he couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop himself–!

 

_Filthy depraved parasite. Ugly corrupted half-thing._ He curled into a ball, arms wrapped around himself. The disgusting pleasure of the warm, fresh blood flowing through his body tore at him.

 

“Tomorrow,” he breathed, curling his fingers against the cold flagstones.

 

“Tomorrow.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I apologize for the delay. There was no real reason for it beyond me finding the time and energy to clean up the formatting and post, but for some reason that was difficult to do. To make the posting of the next couple chapters faster, I will not be tidying the formatting– hopefully it works.
> 
> The game, however, is another matter. The date has been changed to sometime in March, and will be determined for certain soon. Regardless of when, the entirety of this fic will be posted by then!
> 
> Also, I am trying to update my other fics, but I can't be sure when any of them will be updated. I have been very busy and creatively exhausted these past couple months, to the point where even posting finished chapters has apparently been too much for me. I will not be giving up on updates, though. Garden of Roses is closest, so expect that one soon.


	3. Pink Rose

 Early spring chill hung in the thick, blue-hued air, crisp and biting. Inaho surveyed the group– twenty-five Protectors, arrayed in loose marching formation. It would take them two days of hard travel to reach the former Grenhal outpost at the border.

His eye flicked to the vampire. It stood there, a mote of unnatural silence among the huffed breaths of horses and murmur of conversation. Okisuke’s laugh echoed dully in the morning fog. The silver collar caught the half-light and gleamed faintly. There was no lead attached, this time. A vampire on a leash would be useless in battle, as much more secure as it might have been. He simply needed to get used to it.

“Vampire,” Inaho said.

The vampire lifted its head an increment in acknowledgement. Other than that, it did not move, and kept its head down.

“Stay within my line of sight at all times. If you cannot maintain the proper speed, you will be leashed to the saddle and dragged. Do not fall behind.”

The vampire nodded.

Inaho watched it out of the corner of his eye as the formation coalesced around them. The vampire merely stood next to his horse. It was unarmed– but no Protector worth their armor would be so foolish as to think a vampire without weaponry was incapable of inflicting harm. Inaho’s hands tightened on the reins.

His horse wuffled and shifted from hoof to hoof. All the horses were restless. It did not require the delicate senses of a horse to detect the tension hovering in the dawn light.

Then–

“All! At the ready!”

Inaho shifted on the saddle, adjusting his hold on the reins. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the vampire readying itself.

“Protectors! Move out!”

The pace was harsh, the roads rough and uneven in the burgeoning light. This far from the center of the land that Terra and its Protectors controlled, the roads were poorly maintained. If not for the back-and-forth of soldiers and supplies during the war, they might have faded away all together.

Grenhal had thought itself safe. Border towns had always been at risk, and rarely went without protection– walls, a full garrison. Yet, when Asseylum’s Dominion pulled the vampire forces back into surrender…

It had been easy to celebrate the end of the war. To drop their guard.

And their sense of security had killed them.

Inaho’s knuckles went white. The urge to dig his heels into his horse’s sides and spur it forward faster rose in him. He pushed it down.

The vampire kept pace beside him unfailingly, through the arc of the sun sailing above them until shadows trailed long like grim black banners flying before them.

As color faded from the sky, they halted.

Pitching the tent, Inaho grudgingly acknowledged, was easier with the vampire’s silent, uncomplaining assistance. He left the vampire chained out by the horses. Luckily for it, the sky was clear of rain. Its expression had remained the same, unchanging, emotionless mask the whole day– except for once. When he had tossed it the spare blanket and bedroll. For an instant, the vampire’s eyes had gone wide, lips parting as though it were surprised– and then it had closed off once more. Inaho, however, had not let that crack in the mask escape him.

Lying on his own bedroll, restless, he turned it over and over in his mind. The mask was logical, expected. The slip was not. Surprise was not a reaction Inaho had predicted to be hiding beneath the vampire’s deception. Calculation, perhaps. Or hatred. Or satisfaction. Not…

Something eerily reminiscent of that vulnerable expression the vampire had shown when Inaho revealed the Queen’s request.

Enough. There was little enough time to sleep before his watch. Wasting it attempting to determine the vampire’s ultimate plan would only make him less able.

Inaho rolled over, closing his eyes to the machinations of the waking world

  * ••



Slaine tried not to stare as the group of humans entered the empty garrison. Even when he’d been on this side of the border, he’d either been too young to be taken to a military outpost… or staring it down from the outside, trying to crack it open.

The walls were plain stone. The ceilings were low, held up by beams and struts. There was nothing luxurious about the architecture, nothing decorative, nothing fanciful. It was merely utilitarian. No decoration hung on the walls. The beams were plain. The door lintels held no engraved designs. The emptiness, the barrenness, wove a thread of unease up his spine. He held no love for the vampires’ wasteful decadence that characterized even military buildings, but without it…

It felt alien. Unnatural.

Curled up behind bars once more that night, he stared at the wall.

Funny. He’d done more in the past two days than he had in months. It was merely running, not a real battle– yet, it still left him buzzing.

The fresh blood resonated still in his veins. It was repulsive, but it had kept him upright and apace with the humans on horses for two days of marching. Hopefully, it would hold him for another battle or two.

Kaizuka had given him a weapon. Let him test it, even. A narrow, diamond-shaped shield.

A bitter laugh rose in his throat. A shield? It could be a taunt. Could be a practical acknowledgement of his old way of fighting, during the war. More than likely, it was both.

Either way, it didn’t matter. The silver collar chafed, and he could feel the rawness of the skin beneath without even attempting to touch it.

On the morrow, they would set out once more. Searching for the vampire bands causing trouble.

He was not surprised at their presence. Dominion was difficult to resist, but it held no sway after the Aldnoah power behind it faded away. He had seen, up close and more personal that he had ever wanted, how much vampires hated humans. How far they would go, when they had the power. Of course some would refuse to obey. They lived for the blood of the battlefield, the sensation of crushing those weaker than them.

He was no different from them. His blood sang for it, the running and fighting and feasting.

He huddled into himself, arms crossed over his chest.

Tomorrow awaited.

  * ••



“Stray from my side and you will be given no mercy,” Inaho said as settled his quiver onto his back.

The vampire nodded. It was inspecting the straps on the shield he had allowed. Without even sharpened edges, the hunk of metal was no proper weapon– but in the hands of a vampire, even the blunt shield rim could be deadlier than any blow from a sword.

Inaho clicked his bow into place next to the quiver and jerked his head at the vampire. “To the main hall. We’re in the scout team.”

It followed him obediently, with the unsettling silent grace of a wolf. He kept his fists clenched to keep from twitching for his knife.

Grenhal itself– or rather, where Grenhal had once been– lay further off to the east. They did not waste time searching the ruins. Instead, Okisuke, he, the vampire, another woman, led by Marito, set off on the path the previous scouts had taken. Traces had been found– animals with unnatural injuries on their dead bodies, boot prints, charred wood.

“Halt!” Marito called from the front. “There’s something here.”

The woman advanced behind him. “A deer,” she said grimly. Kneeling next to it, she grimaced. “Those are definitely fang marks. Broken neck, too.”

“Everyone, stay together. Kaizuka junior, keep your pet on a short leash.”

The group moved on, drawn together into a wary knot. Inaho kept a hand on his knife hilt– a bow would be nigh on useless in brush and close forest like this. Then–

“Stop.”

The vampire had gone still. Inaho turned to look at it.

“They are close.”

“How do you know?” Inaho pressed as the others came to a halt.

“I– I can hear them.”

Marito rounded on the vampire. “This could be a lie. An attempt to distract us”–

Inaho saw the vampire’s eyes widen with fear as he heard it– the crack of a breaking branch. Okisuke barely managed to raise his blade in time to block the strike that came almost out of nowhere.

In a blink, vampires were all around them. Inaho snarled a curse under his breath, striking out with his silver-bladed knife. Without orders, the vampire pulled close to his side, shield up. A blow came down on the shield hard enough to make it ring with a frantic metal clang. It would have broken any human’s arm. The vampire shrugged it off. Inaho darted under the attacker’s guard and felt flesh give under his knife. Blood splashed hot up his hand. The enemy staggered back with an indignant cry– only to receive a heavy uppercut from the rim of the shield.

Inaho blocked a swing at the vampire’s legs, knife scraping up the sword’s edge. He flipped his grip and cut into an unprotected wrist. No armor, then. He and the others wore none, but they had not set out intending to engage– only gather information.

Now, they had more than they had ever desired to find.

His vampire blocked another blow. Inaho gripped his blade tighter, scanning the scene. Despite the surprise attack, they were holding up. None had fallen yet. The vampires attacked without order or formation. Fending them off was merely a matter of countering one at a time.

“Captain. We should retreat.”

“I hear you, Kaizuka junior,” Marito gritted out as his boot met a vampire’s stomach. “As soon as they give us some room to breathe, we make a break for it.”

“Yes sir!” the others chorused. Inaho nodded. His vampire said nothing, but settled into a defensive stance once more, braced to take the blows.

And then–

On his right, Okisuke screamed with agony and fell. A flash of metal, driving through the space that Okisuke had been protecting, right for his now-exposed side–

Something hit him like an iron bar across the back, knocking him forward. He staggered, whirling to face the scene–

His vampire let out a choking noise. The shield hung like a dead weight from one limp arm. From the middle of its back, a red-gleaming point protruded.

Inaho leapt forward. With one hand, he gripped his vampire’s shoulder. The other swung, sinking his blade into the enemy’s neck, the impaled body in front of him providing the perfect cover.

Inaho yanked, pushing the dead enemy away and pulling his vampire off of the sword blade in the same motion. The vampire fell back into him, and he had to catch it before it collapsed to the ground. Lowering them both to the ground, he looked around. Marito tended to Okisuke– it looked like a leg wound. The woman clutched her upper arm with a bloody scrap of cloth.

The brush was silent, the little space of path littered with slain enemies.

“We didn’t kill them all. I saw the rest run,” the woman said.

“Our priority now is to return to the base,” Marito snapped. “We have one injured”– he paused, glancing over. “Two?”

Inaho looked down at the vampire. It gasped in labored breaths. “You. Are you going to die?”

“No…” it rasped. “This… will close. Soon. It’s just– the blood in the lungs– harder to breathe.”

Inaho shook his head to Marito.

The vampire struggled upright on its own. Okisuke yelped as Marito pulled him to his feet.

Inaho would have been dead if that strike had hit him. Straight through his chest. Instant death.

The vampire had saved his life.

  * ••



Kaizuka remained as silent as usual during the rushed return to the garrison. They made it without another attack, despite the sluggish pace. The injured human slowed the party significantly. Slaine was secretly grateful; it would take at least a day for his body to recover fully from the cold metal driven through his ribs.

He shrank back away from the flock of humans that greeted their arrival. Panic was spreading through them like wildfire. He did not miss the suspicious, cold, furious looks thrown his way. Keeping his head down, he followed Kaizuka.

They did not head for the stairwell down to the prison quarters. Slaine’s heart rate rose. Instead, Kaizuka followed stairs up. Slaine kept pace behind him. His fingernails dug into his palms. Around his neck, the collar throbbed.

Kaizuka came to a stop in front of a door and unlocked it. He pushed it open. Slaine stared inside.

“Well?” Kaizuka demanded.

Slaine swallowed. “Why are you… showing me this?”

“You will not be kept in the cells any more. Your actions in the skirmish showed that that is unnecessary.”

Slaine blinked. “I…”

“Get in.” Kaizuka gestured impatiently, and Slaine obeyed instantly.

Kaizuka followed him.

 _Oh_ , Slaine realized. _This_ , _then_. The thirst, whetted by the severe healing he had been forced into mere hours ago, twisted in his throat. He tamped down a surge of nausea. _No point in putting it off_. Lowering his eyes, he got down on his knees once more.

Kaizuka presented his wrist this time. Slaine let the blood take him, burning away all thought under that perfect satiation.

His whole body protested, the fading wound in his chest giving one last throb of protest, when he pulled away. Kaizuka watched him with that one dark, flat red eye. Slaine turned his face away, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Kaizuka left in silence. Slaine retreated to the bed, hearing the lock click.

He could have broken down the door. Snapped the lock like kindling. Torn though the night sentries like so much parchment.

Silver heavy around his neck, he curled beneath the dusty blankets and let his eyes fall shut.

  * ••



Sun-bright daisies bloomed along the trail as they moved from garrison to garrison along the border. Reports came every day now, of skirmishes and raids all along both sides of the border. Peace reigned in name. War reigned by the sword, bodies stacking high and blood soaking the dirt.

In the end, the battle came to them.

As their group reached the bottom of a rise, vampires poured over the top, rending the air with high-pitched cries of glee.

The vampires fell upon them almost faster than Inaho could load his bow. The bolt clicked into place as he swung it up, and planted a silver arrowhead in the skull of the nearest enemy.

He had no range. He needed a vantage point– cover, height, somewhere. _There_. At the edge of the field. A towering pine. He locked eyes with the vampire and pointed with his bow. The vampire followed his direction and then nodded, eyes widened with understanding.

Together, they cut across the fringes of the battle. It was mostly a matter of deflection. The rest of the combatants were too focused on their own opponents to notice the shadows darting past. Except–

A vampire stood above a fallen Protector. Troyard broke from Inaho’s side to beat the vampire back with his shield, giving the fallen man enough time to scramble to his feet and flee. Enraged by the escaped prey, the attacker struck for Troyard. The sword caught the vampire’s side, point sinking into the flesh. Troyard slammed his shield into the throat of the enemy vampire. There was a crunch of gristle and bone. The impact tore the blade from the vampire’s side. The other vampire staggered, clutching at its throat. Inaho dispatched it with another arrow. His eye went to the vampire’s wound. He looked up and their gazes met.

“Not– silver,” gasped his vampire. “It’s– closing already.”

Inaho nodded, once, and leapt up the tree trunk. Settled into position, he returned his attention to the fray. The vantage point was excellent. Little to no brush blocking his line of fire. A broad view of the open hillside. Enemy after enemy fell, an orange-fletched arrow sprouting from their skull or throat or chest. But yet–

It wasn’t working.

He could pick off a dozen of them from his position in the tree. It wouldn’t matter. They were losing ground. The ridge put them at a disadvantage. The vampires barely needed it to overpower them regardless.

A flash of silver and pale golden hair wove through the chaos. It was fascinating to watch; the spark appeared in the thickest knots of fighting, and unraveled them, leaving behind holes for Inaho’s arrows to fly through. It wavered away from the combatants, luring them out into Inaho’s sightline.

He remembered this dance. Remembered it from the other end, where that flash of gold and black melted behind a wall of human soldiers, vanished into tiny spaces in the terrain. Always deep in the thickest of the fighting, uncaring of the blades that cut his flesh, striking too quick to counter, playing the landscape like a true instrument of war.

His eye narrowed. The spark of silver-gold was not moving at random. The direction– up, up, up the ridge– was fully intentional. That was the plan, then?

Bold.

Inaho focused on thinning the throng blocking the way. That white-gold head bobbed and wove forward. Shield like a wall, pushing ever onwards up the ridge.

Inaho jumped down from his perch. Enough distant sniping.

Something wild thrummed through his veins as he ran across the battlefield, legs pumping and muscles straining with sweet fire. He vaulted over a crumbling wall, flying past several surprised vampires. He sprang over a ditch, landing with a roll and surging to his feet to knock aside an enemy standing in his way.

And–

The line was breaking. “To the ridge!” he cried. Around him, behind him, all across the field, a rallying cry rose from the throats of the scattered, battered humans. In a surge, they charged through the vampires. And up, up, up. Screams of pain and victory mingled– but they had taken it. They had the high ground now.

As one, the line bore down on the vampires. What had been a scattered, drawn-out fight was now a rout, vampires breaking formation and retreating, falling back.

Inaho stopped, chest heaving as he caught his breath. Somewhere, somehow, he had lost sight of that flash of gold through the chaos. Where had the vampire gone?

  * ••



Pain, curling around his body like a massive wasp, driving its stinger into him again and again. He was so weak, so terribly weak, his breath came in short, starving gasps and he could not lift a finger to move. It were as though all his tendons had been sliced, leaving him a limp, bloody doll.

He had sensed the blow coming, Aldnoah echoes ringing a warning in his veins, but he’d been too late–

 _Blood_.

A pulse.

 _Close_.

His body _screamed_ for it. Veins thrummed with futile desperation. Mayhap if he hadn’t been sliced open and slowly draining his life out onto the churned mud, he would have lunged at the hapless human.

Lucky he couldn’t, then.

Distantly, he felt fangs prick at his lips. His mouth was open, gaping hungrily.

Were those steps?

Something warm and thrumming with rich, fresh blood was there, near him, near enough to grab. He lurched towards it feebly. Couldn’t reach it, of course. A plea rose in his throat, keening, starved– but his body was too weak to even give voice to it.

Then– it was there. Pulse, thrumming, warm skin soft and smooth before his fangs. He lapped at it, feeling the human’s heartbeat beneath his tongue, tasting the savor of sweat. Softly, he closed his mouth over the exposed vessels and sank his fangs into the flesh.

The rush of blood over his tongue was fresh, clean, hot– the sheer intensity of it made his eyes flutter shut. He could barely swallow. Yet, he had to, _had to_ , had never needed anything more than he needed this, and he drank it down.

 _Careful_ , a voice in the back of his head whispered. _Careful. Don’t hurt him_. Because Slaine knew who it was. Knew this blood, knew the touch of the hand he gradually registered supporting the back of his head.

But _oh_ , the blood flowing down his parched throat, so sweet and so savory and so vivid. He could feel its warmth emanating through his battered body, soothing away the pain. A moan spilled out of him as he brought his hands up to cradle the wrist pressed to his lips. He could drive his fangs into that vulnerable flesh again, make the blood flow faster–

 _No. Keep it in check. Don’t give in. Don't give in_.

The edges of his wounds knitted together, broken bones fusing and wrenched tendons smoothing. He was still starving, that endless hunger roaring within him, begging and demanding more _more_ MORE–

He pulled his mouth away from Inaho’s wrist, though he couldn’t withhold one last lingering draw of his tongue over the puncture marks.

Inaho frowned down at him. “Are you done?” His voice held the clear implication that this would be the last fresh blood Slaine would be allowed for a long time.

Slaine nodded.

“Can you move?”

“Yeah,” he said, flinching slightly at the obvious rasp in his voice. It took two helping hands and much flailing, but he finally made it to his feet. His ragged clothes clung stickily to him, still soaked with his own blood. He pulled his cloak around him, a small attempt to preserve modesty when his tunic and pants had both been slashed through.

He took a single step, and staggered. Inaho caught him, one arm ending up around his waist, the other bracing his hold across Inaho’s solid shoulders.

Somehow, Inaho kept him upright, sometimes almost carrying him. Slaine let the man do it, leaning into him heavily as he struggled back to shelter on coltish legs.

Staggering into the courtyard, Slaine immediately noticed the change. Carts, horses, people rushing back and forth, loads being tossed and packages being hauled inside.

“Inaho…” he said.

“I know.” Inaho’s arm curled slightly tighter around his waist. “I see it.”

“I can stand.”

Inaho turned to look at him. Their eyes met, blood-red-earth brown staring into sunlit-sky-blue. Their gazes held for a long moment. Then, Inaho nodded and let go, stepping away.

Slaine wobbled slightly, but did not fall. He breathed an internal sigh of relief. “I’ll be inside if you require anything of me.”

Inaho nodded.

Slaine made his way to their tent and sank down onto his bedroll. He rolled onto his back, then flinched as a half-healed wound protested. Readjusting himself so he lay on his side, his mind flashed back to the yard.

Humans and vampires were much the same, when it came to formalities. He had lived with vampires long enough to recognize the preparations.

The Queen was coming.

  * ••



Inaho fidgeted against the wall. On paper, he was no more high-ranking than any Protector with basic battle training and field experience. His refusal of a command position, after the war, had placed him between ranks. Properly, he held the same rank as the rest of the soldiers on the ground. In actuality, he had the honors of a Captain, and a close relationship with the vampire Queen. Officials did not seem to know how to react to this. He let them sort it out on their own.

This was why, in this moment, he waited for the Council along with the rest of the officers in this garrison.

This stronghold was a logical place to carry out a negotiation between the council and the Vers monarchy. It was set back slightly from the border, not deep in Protectorate territory– but neither directly in the areas riddled with insurgents.

 _Yet_.

Seylum was coming. He had not seen her since the end of the war, when she had begged him to save Troyard.

She had ended the war with her Aldnoah. But not well enough. Seylum herself may believe coexistence was possible, but vampires had not changed. They clung to their superiority. No Dominion order could convince them to let go of it.

The Council of the United Protectorate of Terra filed into the room. Immediately, Inaho was approached by the Protector Superior.

“General Hakkinien.” Inaho dipped his head.

“Kaizuka,” Hakkinien said. “Excellent work. You have far surpassed my expectations in bringing that vampire to heel.”

“Sir.”

“I will admit, I did not have high hopes of success, even for someone such as you. Troyard is infamously proud and recalcitrant. In honesty, I am curious. How did you break him?”

“He did not present any challenges. Sir.”

Hakkinien smiled indulgently. “I hold no qualms about less-than-honorable methods. If he warms your bed, I admire your boldness and fortitude. Resourceful, too. What better way to establish dominance?”

“I have not”– Inaho clenched his jaw. “I do not bed the vampire. Sir.”

“Ah?” Hakkinien’s smile did not fade. “Impressive, then, that you bent this one to your will without any effort. Perhaps it is weaker than I assumed. I wish you luck, Kaizuka.” With that, he turned and began to fade into the crowd of other officers and officials. However, at the last second, he paused. “If it is true that you have not slept with the creature, perhaps it would be wise to not be spotted in public, tenderly carrying its injured form. It gives people ideas. Ideas they may act upon in unfortunate ways.”

With that, Hakkinien left.

Inaho blinked. He had had encounters with other young men before– swift, messy affairs that consisted of more awkward groping than anything else. It was an efficient way to release the accumulated tensions and adrenaline of battle. But to do _that_ with a _vampire_ – Troyard, of all vampires–

He shook his head. Troyard was impressive in battle. That was the end of it.

  * ••



The sound of boots approaching was no remarkable thing, in the busy rush of royal arrival. But these were familiar. Slaine swiftly tucked the makeshift bandage he had made, and pulled on a fresh tunic. He smoothed down the front of it as Inaho pulled back the tent flap.

“Lucky,” Slaine quipped, “if you had come thirty seconds earlier you would have caught me in a state of undress.” He let out a dry chuckle. “Not that you want to see that, I imagine.”

Inaho just stared at him fixedly, eye unblinking, brow slightly furrowed. Slaine cleared his throat and looked away. “I’ve been summoned to the session. You are to accompany me,” Inaho said, and dropped the flap.

Slaine sighed. Without making the air any more awkward with the wrong questions, he followed.

  * ••



“I am working with my nobles to free the blood slaves. They are making progress on releasing your captive kin even as we speak. Moreover, I apologize, once more, for the criminals causing you and your people grief.”

Slaine stood by silently. He could not bring himself to look at the Princess– Queen– much less speak. To his guilty relief, she had not once attempted to converse with him.

If she had, what could he have said? Apologize for betraying her? For leaving the world she dreamed of in a shamble that she, now, was left to fix?

“Do you have the ability to stop them? You utilized such an ability once, your majesty.”

From beside her, Klancain stepped forward. “Please understand. Dominion is powerful, but it places great strain on Her Majesty. She cannot sustain it for long. Even worse, it pains her to force her people into compliance. It may temporarily lead to a cessation of hostilities, but it is no real peace. I am certain none of us in this room desire that.”

Hakkinien nodded. “What you say is true, Lord Cruhteo. But at the same time, our people fight and die due to the actions of those you refuse to control.”

“We can find another way,” Asseylum insisted. “We must!’

Slaine glanced sideways at Kaizuka. Kaizuka had not raised his voice even once to join the discussion. His expression stayed flat and empty as it always seemed. Slaine, however, knew not to trust that veneer. Behind that blank face whirred the gears of a dangerous machine. Kaizuka’s mind was never still.

Then, he spoke up.

“General. Asseylum. Dominion will not work, even if used again. If the blood slaves are to be freed, a system must be established to get blood to vampires. There is no way around it. More importantly, these rebel groups are not acting independently.”

Slaine tensed. The room rang with silence.

Then, Klancain finally broke it. “Kaizuka… can you explain?”

“The initial attack was calculated in both location and timing to cause a response. The subsequent attacks have been placed in a pattern that appears random, but one merely has to look at it to see. There is an almost perfectly even ratio between attacks on military patrols and outposts, and attacks on unfortified settlements. If these were random attacks, initiated spontaneously by individual groups, we would see a glut of attacks on vulnerable targets.”

“Solid observation, Kaizuka,” Hakkinien said. “However, what makes you certain that the rates are not due to the vampire’s overconfidence or recklessness?”

“Timing,” Inaho replied. He pulled a notepad from the folds of his tunic. “I have recorded the dates of each attack, and their locations. They often occur in pairs: two attacks, spaced about two day’s travel apart, on settlements. Then, an attack occurs at a garrison centered between them. This is often accompanied by another attack on a moving party of Protectors, who are typically ambushed. I have been part of several of these battles myself.”

“So then…” Asseylum breathed, “someone is… coordinating them?”

“Yes,” Inaho said, folding away his book.

Slaine’s hands curled into fists. Not just unrest. An actual conspiracy against the peace was occurring, all around them. Somehow, he felt no surprise.

Only pure, burning rage.

The talks continued, discussing who could be behind this, and how, debating resource distribution and the problems of releasing blood slaves who refused to leave or had no place to go in Terra, arranging vampire troops to reinforce the safety of the border. Little was truly resolved, by the end. Asseylum was trying. He could see that. But he also saw the way Hakkinien watched her, the way a vulture watched a limping animal. Klancain’s ice-blue eyes remained unmoved, even as he took part.

At last, it ended. But before she left to return to her quarters, Asseylum approached Inaho.

Slaine carefully averted his eyes. Abruptly, he felt as though he were twelve again. Shy and awkward, awestruck by the beautiful young princess before him. But things had changed now. His innocence was long corrupted, and hers crushed by years of war and loss. They hadn’t truly ever been friends then, and they certainly weren’t now. He had no right to speak to her.

“Inaho,” she said. “Do you fare well?”

“Yes, Seylum”

“Are your friends alright?”

“Yes.”

She bit her lip, twisting her fingers together. “I… am deeply sorry that you must continue fighting. I shall do my best to end this as quickly as possible.”

“You could end it now if you used Dominion.” Slaine felt a sudden fervent desire to kick Inaho on the leg.

“But you said– you said that wouldn’t work!”

“Yes. I am merely pointing out that you could do something if you chose.”

Slaine raised his eyes to the heavens. Did Inaho not hear himself?

Asseylum blinked at him, eyes full of surprise and hurt. “I don’t understand, Inaho.”

“I cannot tell you what to do. You must do, yourself, what you think is best.”

“Oh…” She smiled wanly. “Thank you, Inaho. I think I see.” Then, she turned– and met eyes with Slaine. Her smile flickered.

Slaine froze.

“Slaine,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”

And then, she was gone.

“Kaizuka,” Hakkinien called, “accompany me. Your vampire can be trusted to return to its cage on its own?”

“Yes sir.”

He glanced back at Slaine as he left, expression unreadable. Slaine let his shoulders slump, and turned to head back to the camp.

“Oh, please do stay a moment. I’m sure the Protectorate can make an exception for me, if anyone.” Klancain’s smile was bright. It did not reach his eyes. “I would love to have a chance to speak to the one and only Troyard.”

Slaine came to a wary halt. “Yes?”

“Oh, nothing of great matter– I’m simply curious. For example: how did my father’s blood taste, when you stole Tharsis from our bloodline?”

Vampire nobles’ power play, then. Slaine braced himself. “I do not remember.”

“Ah, such a pity. It must be so fascinating to have two sets of Aldnoah gifts in you! One from the Princess herself. Such a strange idea, turning you rather than granting you mercy.”

“You know I do not possess Dominion.”

Klancain inspected his fingernails. “Of course not. Or else a mere human would never have beaten you. What a mess you are! A patchwork of blood and power, grafted onto a feeble human base– but yet you are so weak. You are no true vampire.” Klancain smiled down at him. “And you’re certainly not a human either. You are…” Klancain tilted his head, smile widening. “A dog. Kaizuka’s dog. Collared and tamed. Eating out of his hand.” Klancain paused and laughed lightly. “Literally, if those marks on his wrist tell true!” Klancain loomed forward. Slaine shrunk away instinctively. “Well, then, I hope you enjoy being the humans’ dog. For however long that may last. Who knows how many years it will be before they no longer have need of you. They’ll throw you away, then. Humans, they are so despicably hungry for more, yet they value nothing. It is _always_ about more, for them. They will use you up, just as they use up the land, the water, the very places they live– and then, they shall abandon you.”

Slaine stared at Klancain, wordless.

Klancain’s smile was gone. “Kaizuka with his little machinations. How amusing. Do not delude yourself, however, into thinking he will save you when the time comes. No one wants a second-hand half-thing like you.” Slaine flinched. Klancain’s eyes sharpened. “Oh yes. Don’t think I don’t know about that bit, too. My father’s people are mine now, and I have heard everything they know.” He stepped in, crossing deep into Slaine’s space. “Everything.”

His hand came down on Slaine’s hip, and Slaine jolted. The hand dragged over the small of his back, and down. Slaine tried to pull away. Couldn’t move.

Klancain leaned in close, his hand sliding over the curve of Slaine’s ass. Slaine’s breath came short and fast in his throat. “ _Everything_ ,” Klancain whispered into his ear, fingertips pressing rigid and cruel against his hole through the fabric of his pants.

Then–

Klancain stood back, completely unruffled. “Do not forget to be humble, dearest dog,” he beamed. “I do hope you realize that if you attempt to tell anyone about what happened in this room, there is no possible way they will believe you. Now, go sleep in your cage like an obedient pet.”

Mechanically, Slaine did as he was told.

  * ••



Slaine curled on his cot, shivering. His skin crawled, flashing hot and cold in turns. The unhealed wound from the battle before ached and burned, pain throbbing down his arm and across his back. He pressed his face into the thin blankets.

Boots, approaching the tent once more. Slaine forced open his tired eyes.

Inaho thudded in, feet noisy against the ground. Slaine did not look up as he heard the sounds of Inaho shedding his armor and formal wear.

“I do not trust Klancain,” Inaho said. Slaine swallowed the taste of bile, shivering again as another feverish wave swept over him, prickling cold sweat beneath his clothes.

The sounds of Inaho’s motions came to a stop. His steps approached Slaine.

“The blood on your back is fresh. Silver?”

Slaine closed his eyes and swallowed. Trying to conceal it would be useless. “Yes.”

“Did you try to treat this on your own?”

“Yes.”

“You are clearly unable to treat the wound yourself. I will do it. Take your shirt off.”

Slaine sucked in a breath. “No.”

Inaho’s hands paused over the medical kit. “You will not be able to treat it on your own,” he repeated.

“I can”– a wave of lightheadedness hit him, and for a second he lost the thread of his sentence– “handle it.”

Inaho’s hand grabbed his shoulder and turned him over. Inaho looked down at him, eye cold. “You are lying.”

“No, I can”–

Inaho cut him off. “You appear to be falling ill. If you persist in resisting, I will restrain you and treat your wounds regardless of your wishes. Going into battle weak endangers me directly.”

Slaine clenched his fists. He knew. He knew he couldn’t treat the injury without help. But Inaho would _see_ –

He didn’t have a choice.

In one movement, he turned his back to Inaho and yanked off his ruined shirt.

He pressed his eyes closed as Inaho’s silence rang. Another shiver wracked his body.

Then, Inaho spoke.

“Sit down. Lean forward.”

Was Inaho really going to say nothing about the whip scars?

It seemed so, as Inaho proceeded with silent efficiency to clean the wound. Slaine clenched his teeth, but made no sound. He’d had far worse.

Inaho made the occasional disapproving sound. As he finished, he declared “Infected.” Throwing down the cloth, he pointed to Slaine’s cot. “Bed rest. Do not get up for any reason without my direct permission.”

With the trembling weakness beginning to rise in his limbs, Slaine saw no reason to object. He fell onto the cot and let the waves of dizziness wash him away.

  * ••



He was cold. So very cold. He ached. Every injury, old and new, made itself fully felt. His bones pressed into the cot, and he tossed and turned. Moving made his muscles burn, sent a pounding through his skull. He curled in on himself. He clutched weakly at the blankets, unable to curl his fingers around them to pull them up.

Foreign hands came down and drew the blanket over his shoulders, tucking it in around him. He slumped gratefully onto the thin little mattress. A cold cloth pressed over his forehead and he shuddered, but he didn’t try to shake it off. He trembled. Pain gnawed at his shoulder, heart thumping against his ribs as it strained to pump blood to his wound. Distantly, he felt the thirst, felt his fangs cutting against his lip, but it was all just beyond his reach.

Perhaps he would die here. A prideful vampire prince, surviving torture and impalement only to succumb to fever. He was not even falling into the inescapable depths of feralness. To die that way, blazing out in bloodthirst and violence– that would have been a true vampire’s death. Humans died of injury, of illness. How ironic that the human parts of him were what would, in the end, kill what was left of him.

  * ••



Inaho brushed the hair away from the vampire’s forehead. The vampire made a small, soft sound, turning towards the touch. Inaho withdrew his hand slowly.

Those scars, torn into the vampire’s back in a vivid patchwork of ruined red skin… they could not have been left by a normal implement. Not on a vampire’s skin.

But this vampire was not an ordinary one.

_“My first friend, he was human, like you!”_

_“Was? Is he dead?”_

_Asseylum had gasped. “No! Though… it was a very close call. He was attacked, hurt, I didn’t know what to do or how to save him and there was so much blood… so I turned him.”_

_“You turned him? Vampires don’t turn humans.”_

_“Well, not anymore we don’t. But it was the only way I could think of to keep him from dying.” She had twisted her delicate fingers together, eyes distant. “I didn’t– couldn’t– give him a choice. There wasn’t enough time. But sometimes, I wish…” She had trailed off with a sigh. “He told me something that his father often told him– that we’re all the same in the end, anyway. I hope he was right.”_

Back then, Inaho had nodded in thoughtless agreement. Now…

Slaine’s face was oddly vulnerable, soft with sleep even through the undercurrent of distress left by illness. In battle, he was a spectacle of ferocious beauty, gleaming fangs bared and teal eyes afire and lithe, elegant body poised to strike. Like this… the fury fell away. Was this softness what lay beneath? The fever left his already-pale skin nigh on white, and beaded with sweat. The fever that had not broken yet. Worse still, it showed no signs of abating.

A shiver shook its way through Slaine’s gaunt frame. Inaho re-tucked the blankets around Slaine’s body, frowning. He hadn’t noticed, before this. Before, Slaine had been wrapped in cloaks, covered in armor, concealed behind heavy layers. Now, the wasting in his body was starkly apparent. Though the visual evidence was unnecessary; no vampire should be weak enough to be susceptible to _infection_ of all things.

Inaho had never felt the thirst for blood that vampires lived under. What little description Asseylum had been able to give him hardly helped him understand. But he knew enough to see that what Slaine had been doing to himself was a level of deprivation that approached madness.

Slaine stirred, twisting on the cot. His lashes fluttered.

“Vampire. Are you awake?”

Slaine groaned and curled into himself under the blankets. Another shiver worked through him as he went limp once more.

Inaho sighed.

There was only one solution left.

He rolled up his sleeve, exposing his wrist. Kneeling by Slaine’s side, he held out his arm awkwardly. He shut his eye as warm breath feathered on his skin. And…

There was no bite, no sinking of fangs into his flesh. His eye snapped open. Slaine had turned his face away. Refusing blood? Not conscious enough to respond?

Inaho would have to do this himself, then.

His eye tracked the candlelight flickering off the edge of the knife as he held it over the flame. He watched the slightly-too-fast rise and fall of Slaine’s chest as he waited for the blade to cool.

Readied, he knelt again by the cot. Some small part of him noted that Yuki would never let him out of her sight again if she were to find out about this. Carefully, he pressed the edge of his blade into his skin until a spot of blood bloomed.

He tilted Slaine’s face upwards and lowered his wrist to Slaine’s lips. Slaine scented the air… and turned away again.

“Troyard.” Inaho rolled Slaine’s head back into place.

Slaine’s mouth twisted, a small distressed sound emerging from his throat.

Inaho sighed. “…Slaine,” he tried, smearing a drop of blood on Slaine’s lips.

At last, Slaine’s tongue darted out to lick at it. That tongue slid across Inaho’s wrist, and he breathed out as a strange mix of relief and repulsion hit him.

He let Slaine lap at his cut until blood stopped running from him. Already Slaine’s fever was dropping– it should be sufficient.

He kept watch through the night, checking Slaine’s temperature with his hand. As dawn light began to fade through the sides of the tent, Slaine slept soundly, skin dry of sweat and cool.

Inaho would have to watch for this in the future. Vampiric healing was little help when the vampire in question was too drained to heal.

“Kaizuka! You awake in there?”

Inaho’s head snapped up. “Yes,” he answered, rising from his place beside Slaine’s cot.

“The Captain wants to see you!”

“On my way.” As he left, he spared a glance back at Slaine. It seemed as though, once again, there would be no rest for either of them.

  * ••



Slaine woke alone in the tent. Tentatively, he stretched his shoulder. It twinged, but the worst of the pain was gone. Had it closed?

It gradually dawned on him that his thirst had weakened. He brought his fingers to his mouth. He had been unconscious, unable to even move, much less attack. So what had…?

There was a knock at the tent pole. Slaine stared at the familiar silhouette. “What?”

“You told me to knock before.”

Slaine gave the tent flap a confused look. “Just… come in.”

As Inaho entered, Slaine caught sight of a bandage, peeking out at his wrist under the edge of his sleeve. _Oh_.

Inaho did not look at Slaine as he pulled out a bag and began packing it.

For a moment, Slaine simply watched. Then, a question rose in him, borne on all the hesitations, the flinches, the careful distances Inaho held between them. “Are you afraid of me?”

Inaho was silent. Slaine was strangely glad that he couldn’t see Inaho’s face in that moment. He didn’t want to know what he might find there.

Then, Inaho spoke. “What does my blood taste like?”

Slaine winced. “It is… savory. Rich. Coppery…”

Inaho was silent. He continued packing supplies, back turned to Slaine.

The minutes extended. Slaine slumped back to the pallet, letting his eyes fall shut.

“Are you rested?”

Slaine snapped back to attention. “I– yes.”

“Good. Start packing.” Inaho stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “We have a mission.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I certainly did not intend for this chapter to go up two weeks after the second one… my apologies. I hope it was enjoyable regardless– thank you for reading! As compensation for the delay, and so that you have time to read before the game, the next chapter will go up tomorrow!
> 
> The fanbook game will be here http://www.chatzy.com/39059880273998 in the Blue Roses chatroom, on March 18th, at 10:30 am EST! Read up on all the fanbook fics, and answer questions on them to win prizes like a custom scarf, fanart canvas, and more!


	4. Blue Rose

_Several hours prior_.

“Captain Magbaredge. You called for me?”

“That I did. I have a task for you. We have word of possible rebel activity up along the mountain trail, in the ruins of Ancient Vers. There is an old watchtower up there that is more or less intact. It would make an excellent nest for stubborn enough vermin. We need a small, swift, capable team that can travel light and report back quickly.”

“Me, then.”

“You, and your vampire.”

Inaho clenched his fist. “He isn’t mine.”

Magbaredge raised a brow. “Is that so? Whose is he then?”

“No one’s.”

“Kaizuka.” Her tone took on a warning note. “He belongs to the United Protectorate of Terra. He is a prisoner. Do not delude yourself with pretty ideas.”

Inaho held her gaze. Neither of them blinked.

Then, the Captain snorted and looked away. “You won’t oppose me openly, but neither will you actually obey. I can’t even say I am surprised. It’s as expected from Kaizuka junior.”

Inaho remained silent.

“Well, back to business. You can see the route you will take here, on this map. Take it with you when you go– the trail is not always easy to find. When you arrive at the tower, check it thoroughly to ensure that no rebels are using it as a base. It’s a big place, so it may take as much as a day to confirm that there are no signs of activity The nights up there will be cold. Prepare accordingly.”

Inaho had nodded, and gone to pack.

  * ••



Winter’s end clung with icy fingers to the earth as they set out. The earth swiftly grew stony beneath their feet as the days passed. The mountains loomed steadily higher on the horizon as they headed north, making their way across the remnants of battlefields and burned-out villages.

Slaine kept to himself at night, in the tent. The terrain grew steeper. The cold cut deeper. Slaine huddled gratefully into his bedroll at the end of each day, letting the slow accumulation of his body heat ease the exhaustion out of his muscles.

He noticed Inaho shivering, sometimes. An odd urge to press close, capture their shared heat, pushed him to roll over just once. It would be easy.

He didn’t.

They climbed ever higher. Hills became ridges, dips in the land became small valleys filled with little hamlets of plant and animal life.

“We must stay close to the river,” Inaho said one night, examining the map in the flickering light of the fire at the mouth of the tent. “The trail follows it for the majority of its course. And it is an indispensable source of game and fresh water.”

Slaine nodded in agreement. The firelight caught the planes of Inaho’s face, highlighting the steady line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his cheek, the determined set of his brows. Inaho’s eye almost glowed, like this. Garnet red, with flecks of bronze and coal.

Inaho glanced up and met his gaze. Slaine immediately looked away, overtaken by the feeling of being caught in the act. The act of what? He was only looking. Nothing wrong with that.

“Do you need blood?” Inaho asked.

“I…” They had not fought a single battle since setting out, successfully avoiding any parties they detected in their way. Even so, the relentless pace had taken its toll on him. Every evening, he felt more worn. Every morning, he woke less rested. He bit his lip, tongue pressing against the back of his fangs. “Yes.”

Inaho sat up. “Alright.” He began fumbling with the cuff of his heavy coat. Slaine watched, heart beating faster. Inaho managed to undo the fastening at the end, but it was too thick to roll up far enough to expose his skin. He muttered a curse, fingers going to the collar of his coat.

“Wait,” Slaine said, “You can’t take your coat off, it’s too”–

“Cold. I know.” Inaho’s movements were rough, voice tight. “I’m not taking it off.”

He undid the coat barely down his chest, and then pulled back the collar. The temptingly soft line of his neck was exposed, faint scars cutting meteor trails across it. So was the line of his shoulder and the top of his chest, collarbones highlighted by the firelight.

Slaine’s breath caught in his throat. “I can’t”–

“Do not bite my neck. It is not allowed. You may drink from any other point.”

Slaine bowed his head, pulse racing. He could hear the blood thrumming beneath that bared skin, drumming in his ears, a siren song calling him to sink his fangs into warm vulnerable flesh. He swallowed down a sudden excess of saliva. Careful not to make any sudden movements, he edged towards Inaho. His eyes skittered over the pale scar lines on Inaho’s throat. The tight confines of the tent forced him to settle next to Inaho’s legs. Inaho’s breath was fast and warm.

Without thinking, he placed a hand on Inaho’s shoulder to brace himself. Instantly, he pulled back. Inaho huffed. “Touch me if you must.”

Slaine eyed him warily. Inaho avoided his gaze, looking at the opposite wall of the tent. Slaine returned his palm to Inaho’s shoulder and his eyes to Inaho’s uncovered collarbones.

He drew his lips back and lowered his mouth over Inaho’s skin. His fangs pierced flesh, and blood rushed into his mouth. Inaho tensed.

_What does my blood taste like?_

The question echoed in Slaine’s head as Inaho shifted minutely, just enough to lean his head away from Slaine.

It settled heavy as a stone in his stomach, clashing bitterly with the warmth of blood on his lips.

A few battles side by side could not heal their wounds.

  * ••



Inaho nestled deeper into his bedding.

He was so… comfortable. Safe, warm, contented to just luxuriate in the drowsy fog of half-sleep. He breathed in, and out, slow and steady.

He felt so well-rested and relaxed. Why didn’t he sleep like this every night? With a heavy blanket over him, a comforting arm wrapped around his waist, hot damp breath ghosting against the back of his neck–

Inaho went very, very still.

There were a vampire’s fangs less than a hand’s breadth from his throat.

With a sudden jolt that hit every muscle fiber in his body simultaneously, he tore himself away. He scrambled back, clutching at his neck. He breathed in–

tried to breathe–

couldn’t get enough air into his lungs–

 _Calm yourself. Stay in the present moment_. He forced his hand away from his throat. Counted down from one hundred, one breath each number.

_100_

In.

_99_

Out.

_98_

In.

_97_

Out…

And on, and on, until his heart no longer tried to beat its way out of his chest.

He stared down at Slaine, who had barely stirred. Slaine’s arm was still draped over the spot where Inaho had lain. Had slept, more deeply and restfully than he had for months. Maybe even years. Nestled back-to-front against the greatest enemy he had ever fought.

Did he really trust Slaine that much? To not only sleep in Slaine’s presence, but to allow Slaine– a _vampire_ – within easy striking distance while he was at his most vulnerable?

Inaho pressed his hand over the faint, dulled points of pain under his collarbone and breathed, in and out. Slow. Steady.

The bite mark ached beneath his fingers.

  * ••



The deeper they penetrated, the higher the ruins of ancient Vers rose around them, clinging to the steep sides of the mountains. The trail became more difficult to follow, the path frequently blocked– rock falls, collapsed temples, places where the trail had crumbled away completely.

“We have to find a way around…” Inaho murmured, staring at the crumbling ledge that was all that remained of the way forward.

“Not hard to guess what did it,” Slaine said, tone wry. Inaho turned to see him pointing up. Looming above them, at the top of a rise that was half jagged rock and half ornamental carving, was a line of great stone pillars. The entire corner was missing, from the foundation to the pillar that had stood on it.

Inaho stared up at it. “That building. There has to be a way out of it.”

“So you mean– climb?”

Their eyes met. They shared a nod.

“I can get us back on trail from the stars once we get out,” Slaine said confidently.

Slaine’s cloak flared behind him in the wind as he faced the cliff, great dark wings against the moonlit rock. Pale hair whipping around his head, eyes gleaming like polished stones, he looked as a creature sculpted of light and shadow rather than flesh and blood.

Slaine looked back at him, blue moonlight and white gold and gleaming silver. “Ready?”

Inaho shook himself. “Let’s go.”

Their ascent was slow, by necessity. Between the wind tugging them away from the cliff face, the ancient stonework threatening to crumble beneath their weight, and the chill slowing reflexes and stiffening muscles, a single mistake could mean a fall onto the unforgiving mountain beneath.

Slaine trailed behind him. Inaho suspected Slaine could have made this climb much faster on his own– the vampire’s combination of lighter weight and greater strength were both advantages here. Yet, Inaho let it pass.

If he were to fall, Slaine would have a better chance of catching him than he would Slaine.

Inaho hauled himself up over the ledge, gloved fingers digging into the weathered carvings. He turned back and offered a hand up to Slaine, pulling him the last stretch up over the lip. Panting, he got to his feet and scanned the place they had climbed to.

Crumbling columns lined the edge of the broad stone platform on which they stood. Chunks of worn stone littered the ground, and moss and scrub grew in the cracks. Looking closer, there was some kind of carving beneath their feet as well, mostly covered by the debris.

His breath clouded white in front of him, and a chill gust whistled through the columns. He shivered, drawing his cloak tighter around his shoulders.

“We should stop here tonight,” Slaine said. “The temperature is dropping. There might be a storm. We’ll need shelter.”

Inaho nodded, once, and headed towards the mouth of the building. The hall led into the mountainside, a yawning dark opening littered with the stones of the collapsed roof. He stepped on top of one of the pieces, eyed the cracked pavement, and jumped down. Behind him, Slaine vaulted smoothly over the obstacle.

Inaho turned away. A torch from Inaho’s pack and quick strike of a flint gave them a light to guide their way into the ruins. The tunnel into the mountainside was their only way forward.

Their footsteps echoed oddly inside. The walls were stone brick, some places covered in elaborate carvings. In many places, the signs of water wearing through the stone could be seen in little rivulets that trickled ceaselessly down the smooth surface.

Slaine’s voice rose, incongruous in the silence. “People lived here… people who would later become us. Isn’t that strange to think about?”

Inaho held the torch up higher, straining to cut further into the darkness. “I do not see how they could stand to live somewhere so cold.”

Slaine let out a little laugh at that, bright and genuine. It warmed Inaho far more thoroughly than the paltry flame of the torch.

They continued on, surroundings unchanged but for the different abstract patterns on the walls. Until–

Inaho stepped forwards, and the walls fell away. Torchlight, weak but just enough, illuminated a high, vaulted ceiling. The room was rounded, walls forming a cylinder that could have fit an entire troop.

“Inaho… look at this,” Slaine breathed.

Inaho followed his voice, and saw– the mural.

Stretching up to their left, taller than the both of them combined, rose a massive relief. Hundreds of carved human figures, all with their arms raised towards a round disk, its rays shooting outwards.

“The Great Aldnoah…” Slaine said, voice hushed, as though speaking too loudly may wake something better left undisturbed.

“It’s only a legend.” Inaho shifted his grip on the torch, eye scanning the room.

“Aldnoah had to come from somewhere, didn’t it? Or else… there would be no vampires. No war. No _us_.”

“But stories are just stories. Humans like to exaggerate…” Inaho trailed off, looking at Slaine.

“Vampires, too?” Slaine snorted.

“I”– Inaho stopped. “We need to find a place to sleep.”

Slaine did not point out the abrupt deviation. Instead, he looked over his shoulder, at the tunnel across from the mural. “Wait… Inaho. I think I see… light!”

“That way?”

“Yes!”

They followed it, and found–

A garden.

Or at least, it had been one once. The room was open to the sky, and moonlight splashed down the sides and scattered across the paved paths and waving grasses.

Moss grew thickly along the floor, lining the cracks in the stones. Weeds sprouted from every available patch of earth, creating mounds of green among the ancient stone paths and collapsed archways. A few scrub bushes straggled across the beds, clinging stubbornly to the dirt.

Open air it may be, but dirt was a softer ground for the tent than stone. Inaho set up the tent, while Slaine tore enough branches off the tough scrub for a small fire. As sparks rose, little pinpricks of light glowing golden orange against the darkness, Inaho held his hands over the small blaze and let out a sigh.

“Cold?” Slaine asked, sitting across from him.

“It is never warm up here,” Inaho replied, turning to let the heat seep into his back. Then, his eye caught on something pale in the brush, lit by the soft moonbeams–

He stepped forwards, inspecting it. It was… a flower.

“Strange…” he murmured.

“Inaho? What is it?”

“Something is blooming. But it is too early for flowers.”

“Oh?” Slaine’s voice slid from worry to interest. He appeared at Inaho’s shoulder, and stepped past him to reach out for the plant. Its blossoms were of middling size, five petals around a center clump of sepals. Its leaves were long and rounded, gleaming thorns sticking up in warning along their edges.

“Winter is barely over. No plant should be blooming now.” Inaho frowned. “Does this have something to do with Aldnoah?”

Slaine laughed that warming little laugh again as he knelt by the plant, carefully avoiding the thorns. “There is nothing unnatural at work here.” He cupped the white petals softly in his hands. “It’s called a winter rose. It isn’t actually a rose at all– it’s another kind of flower entirely. That is why it blooms so early in the season, like it is now. But they look enough alike. This one must be tough, to have survived here so long on its own, without proper care…”

“And strong,” Inaho added, “to bloom so beautifully even under such harsh conditions.”

Slaine’s shoulders hitched as he gave a small gasp. He glanced up at Inaho. Their gazes held. Slaine’s face was flushed with cold, his breath clouding in front of him. Strange… the fire crackled well behind them, but Inaho’s face felt warm all the same.

“I– we”– Slaine stammered– “we should– get some rest.” He looked away, leaping to his feet and whisking back to the fire. Inaho stared after him.

The fire and his bedroll were tempting. But for reasons he could not divine, he lingered before the little rosebush. Gently, he reached out for one of the elegant white flowers. The petals were soft against his skin, delicate veins just barely visible beneath their surface. He could feel the resistance in the stem as he held it. Fragile, but resilient.

“You know a lot about plants,” Inaho said as he returned to the tent. “Who taught you?”

Slaine was silent for a moment. Then, he spoke. “No one taught me.”

“So… you learned on your own?”

“Not really. I read books.”

Inaho rested his chin on his hands. “That is still learning without instruction. It’s impressive.”

“It’s not anything much. There were just… a lot of books in the royal library. It kept me out of the way, kept the vampires’ attention off of me, so I…” Slaine shifted, pulling his legs up to his chest. “So I stayed there.”

Inaho blinked. That was… more of Slaine’s history than he had expected. “Is that how you learned to navigate from the stars?”

“I– yes,” Slaine muttered, sinking into his blankets.

“Were you born in Vers?”

Slaine shot upright. “What? As a– as a blood slave?”

“Yes.”

“No, I wasn’t. My father brought me there.”

“Your father? Your mother”– Inaho’s fist tightened on his bedroll. “Vampires?”

“No.” For a long moment, Slaine was silent, and Inaho thought he would not continue. But then– “My mother wasn’t killed by vampires. She… died birthing me. My father lost himself in his studies, after that. Sometimes I wonder if… if my father would rather have had her than me. Would he have gone to Vers if she were alive? Would he have lived longer, been happier?”

Inaho struggled in helpless silence. Before he could say anything, Slaine made a small hiccupping sound and spoke again.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you with this. I’ll go to sleep.”

More questions rose to Inaho’s lips, pressing at him. Why did Slaine doubt himself so? What else had Slaine learned, with such amazing dedication? When had Slaine come to Vers? Why?

But the tense line of Slaine’s back kept him quiet. Slaine had likely exposed more of himself than he meant to. Even Inaho could tell that speaking of it hurt him. But…

They both needed rest, regardless. Now was not the time.

Perhaps it would never be the time.

  * ••



Slaine could not look Inaho in the eye that morning. They did not speak as they set off. Inaho lit the torch once more, and they left the circle of waxing daylight that was the abandoned garden.

In the silence, the sound of their footsteps echoing up and down the tunnel made it seem as though they were followed by a horde, hanging just out of sight. Slaine could not keep himself from glancing around, keeping a needless watch. The Tharsis running in his veins buzzed and scratched at him, filling him with a vague but inescapable sense of foreboding.

Time passed strangely here, far below the ground and away from the light of day. At one point, Inaho called for a stop and rested briefly against the bricks, canteen held loosely in his hand. Slaine paced, unease crawling up his spine.

When they emerged, the sun was high in the sky. The trail branched in front of them, signs of ancient walls and roads visible everywhere under the brush. Inaho surveyed their surroundings, his lone eye empty and distant, and consulted the map. He pointed to the trail furthest to the right. And so they carried on.

Slaine had felt this… _warning_ as early as the night before. Then, he had put it down as perhaps heralding an incoming storm. But the sky had remained clear. The feeling had only grown worse.

He stayed on alert as the sun sank in the sky to their right. The trail wound ever northward, ever upwards. Their goal, from the glimpse he had had of the map, was getting close. Only half a day’s hard travelling after they rested tonight.

That night, in the ruined garden… he had said too much. Far too much. He could not take it back. Kaizuka knew, now. Something he had never admitted to anyone. Not Harklight, not Lemrina, not even to the Princess– Queen. But now, to the man who hated him perhaps more than anyone else.

Not that Inaho let it show often, anymore. He was a better man than Slaine was. Tolerant to the point of seeming kind. Clever, quick thinking, skilled and steady both in battle and out of it. Lacking the strength and speed of a vampire, but making up for it through pure unrelenting effort.

Ironic, then, how his human peers treated him like an outcast. A freak. A mutt…

Slaine swallowed.

After sundown, the temperature dropped swiftly.

“We should stop. We’ll need to push hard to reach the old watchtower tomorrow.”

Slaine nodded his agreement, feeling from Inaho’s eyes on him that Inaho caught the gesture. Slaine paced a swift loop around the perimeter of the stone shelf they had paused on.

“What’s wrong? Do you sense something?”

“I…” Slaine took a deep breath. “It is nothing specific. I just… feel something coming.”

“If it is not upon us yet, we should be safe for the night.”

Slaine sighed. “You don’t have to comfort me, Inaho.”

Inaho stared up at him from the bedroll. “It was merely practical advice.”

“I… I know.”

It was quiet but for the distant whistle of the wind. Inaho drew his blanket tighter around his shoulders. Then, he spoke.

“You told me much, last night. An exchange is fair.”

“An exchange? What are you talking about?”

“You shared your history. It is time I shared mine.” Inaho looked off over the edge of the shelf. “You asked, months ago. About my… about the scars on my neck. I’m going to tell you.”

Slaine’s breath caught. “You don’t– you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Inaho said firmly. “You should sit down, so that you are more comfortable.” He patted the spot beside him on his bedroll, holding out a blanket-draped arm.

Slaine hovered, uncertain. Inaho simply watched him, brows raised expectantly. Then, Slaine closed his eyes, swallowed, and gave in. He settled next to Inaho, enough space between them for another person to have fit.

Inaho did not attempt to close the distance. Instead, he turned to look forward.

Slaine didn’t blame him. The vista below them was absolutely breathtaking. All the mountain slopes they had climbed, falling away covered in snow and gleaming like polished porcelain in the moonlight. It was laid out like a painting, composed from little dark brushstrokes of sheer cliff sides and trees. The river whispered faintly below them, winding away down the vista in a line of silver embroidered across the snow.

At last, Inaho spoke.

“My family lived in a town not far from the border. That’s what Yuki told me. Fifteen years ago… you know what happened. The Fall.”

Slaine shivered.

“I was three. I don’t remember it, not really. But vampires attacked our farm. Killed our parents. Yuki escaped, and found one of them attacking me. It had…” He trailed off, bringing a hand up to press against the scarred skin of his throat. “It had torn my throat open. Yuki killed the vampire with a hoe, but she thought… she thought I was dead.” His voice went quiet. “I should have been. There is no way for a child so young to survive that. But I did.”

“The bond,” Slaine breathed.

Inaho stiffened, but did not look at him. “No. I did not– enter a bond with Aldnoah.”

“But you have it within you all the same.”

“Yes.”

“So, your neck… that’s where…”

“Yes.”

“And so that is why you are… different.”

“… Yes.”

Slaine’s eyes fell to the grit between his boots. “That must have been terrible.”

“I don’t remember my parents enough to miss them, so not really,” Inaho said without inflection.

Slaine snuck a glance at him. “That’s not what I… I’m sorry about your parents, but I meant… growing up like that. Being…”

“Half of a vampire?”

Slaine felt the whip crack of tension snap through him. “I didn’t mean”–

“It’s fine. I don’t mind it when you say it.”

Slaine’s words had always been his first weapon, either to defend himself or to attack. But now, he could find none.

Inaho’s voice rose in the silence. “When I first met Seylum, I didn’t see that she was a vampire. I couldn’t tell. But when she realized there was something distorted about me, that I wasn’t like other humans… she didn’t treat me any differently. All that mattered to her was that I was who I was. Talking to her… it felt like the world really could become a better place. I knew peace was impossible. But she let me forget logic and evidence. Forget that there is something _wrong_ in me. She was hope, and I wanted her.” He stopped and huffed, rubbing his face with his palms. “Never mind. I don’t know what I’m trying to say with this.”

Slaine’s hand twitched, aching to reach for Inaho’s. He pressed it against his own leg instead.

“You knew Seylum too, didn’t you?” Inaho asked. “She spoke warmly of you.”

  * ••



“Princess Asseylum saved my life,” Slaine said softly. “After my father died, I was… prey, at best. A target, at worst. One of them got ahold of me…” He shuddered, eyes dulling. It made something twist painfully in Inaho’s chest. “The princess stopped him in time to save me, but to do it… she had to turn me.”

“So Seylum was the vampire that turned you?” The story she’d told him was true, then.

“I just said it, didn’t I?” Then, Slaine sighed. “Sorry. It is a strange idea, isn’t it. That any vampire would turn a human, much less the Princess herself.”

 _I would likely not have believed it if she had not told me before_. “And the vampires did not treat you well. Even after you became one of them.” Inaho did not ask it as a question. Slaine’s actions answered him clearly.

Slaine’s eyes fell shut. “I wasn’t born one of them. They… never let me ignore that.” He took a deep breath. “Except her. I thought– here was someone who didn’t care if I was a human or a vampire. Someone who would be kind to me, regardless of what I was. It almost made me forget, sometimes. I almost believed it didn’t matter, when I was around her.” He laughed, a short, sad, bitter sound. “She accepted me. She was my friend. She told me I was kind, intelligent, a good person. How could I not love her, for that? I even dared to hope that… that someday, she might love me back.” His voice grew soft. “What was I thinking. She was wrong about me. All that time, she was wrong. She never saw the monster waiting beneath the surface.”

“You’re not.”

Slaine’s head snapped around, expression incredulous. “Not what?”

“Not a monster.”

Slaine’s eyes widened. Then, he threw his head back with a low, strained sound that might have been a laugh. “Really? What proof do you have of that?” His voice sank to a hiss. _“I drink your blood. I murder, betray, maim without flinching. How can you say that I am not a monster?”_

“Doing what you must to survive does not make you a monster.”

“You have the audacity to say that?” Slaine leaned closer to him, eyes wide and blue and terrible. “ _You are a vampire. You are my enemy_. Ring any bells?”

Inaho blinked. “I”–

“I never forgot. You knew what I was then. You know it now. So go on. Tell me the truth. We both know it!” He lunged suddenly, an incoherent cry tearing from his lips. Inaho was caught off guard, pinned to the ground. “You know what I am! Say it!”

Inaho stared up into Slaine’s wild eyes, saw the way his bared fangs caught the light and gleamed…

A drop fell on his face.

“Say it!” Slaine screamed, voice raw. His fingers dug into Inaho’s shoulders. His grip was iron-hard. “You know what I am– say it! I know you think it all the time! Say it already!”

Another drop landed on Inaho’s cheek. He reached up, around Slaine’s arm, and brushed his thumb across the corner of Slaine’s eye. It was wet. Slaine started. “You never got an answer,” he said softly, cupping Slaine’s cheek in his palm, “when you asked me if I was afraid of you. Do you want to know the answer?”

Slaine didn’t speak. His chest heaved with fast, deep breaths. His gaze was locked on Inaho’s, lost and frantic and so, so blue.

“I’m not,” Inaho said. “I am not afraid of you.”

Slaine’s breathing hitched. _“Why?”_ His voice was weak, strained.

“I have come to know you. Your mind, your heart, your body. I know now what I did not understand, before. ‘Vampire’ is just a word. It describes you. It does not define you. Can you understand, then, why I say that you are not a monster?”

Slaine made a small, wounded sound. “That’s not… you know… I…”

“I don’t care. The past is the past. The future is what concerns me.”

“Do you want me to simply _forget_ everything I have done?”

“No.” Inaho paused, and took a heavy breath. “I want our wounds to heal.”

Slaine stared down at him, and Inaho wiped another tear away before it could fall. Their faces were very close. Above him, those eyes felt like a small sky, just big enough to lose himself in.

The moon was bright as their lips met.

Inaho’s hands slid up into Slaine’s hair, weaving through the silken strands. Slaine’s fingers tightened on his shoulders– this time gripping not with violence but with desperate, clinging tension. Slaine let out little sweet gasps against Inaho’s mouth. Inaho hummed and ran a hand down Slaine’s neck and down his spine.

Somehow, without him noticing, they had shifted upright. Slaine was a warm weight in his lap. Their heated breath mingled as they parted for a moment. Then, Slaine closed the distance once more. Inaho wrapped his arms around Slaine’s waist, pulling him close. Slaine’s hands came up to cup Inaho’s face, fingers delicately tracing the string of his eye patch. A long, low sound of pleasure rumbled in Inaho’s throat. Then–

Slaine pushed himself away. Cold mountain air rushed in to fill the space where he had been. Inaho blinked. “Slaine?”

Slaine, kneeling on the end of the bedroll, averted his eyes. “What are we doing, Orange?”

“Why do you need to ask?”

“Because you aren’t.”

“We are kissing. Simple.”

Suddenly, Slaine’s furious gaze was on him once more. “It isn’t simple! Don’t you understand? We are, we have been, we always will be, at odds! We can never”–

“I don’t believe that. It doesn’t have to be that way.”

Slaine yanked down the neck of his shirt and hooked a finger under the silver collar that gleamed there. “It doesn’t? Then what does this mean?”

“It is an unnecessary inconvenience.”

“What it means,” Slaine hissed, “is that I am different from you. We can never be the same. We can’t have”– for a second, his expression flickered with pain.

Inaho’s hand wrapped softly around Slaine’s, drawing it away from the burning silver. “If you want it off, we can remove it. The hinges are easily broken.”

“That’s not the point. This collar will always be there, even if you take it off, even if it corrodes away to dust– I will never be free of it. There is no place for me in this world.” Slaine knocked Inaho’s hand away and stood, cloak snapping behind him. “We should do what we came here for. Let’s move.”

Inaho stared up at him. “The collar is only a physical object”–

“ _Don’t_ ,” Slaine hissed, “talk to me.” He threw his bag onto his shoulder and turned his back. “Catch up. If you can.” With that, he was gone.

Inaho gathered what little had been unpacked as swiftly as he could. Slaine’s behavior was strange, confrontational– as it had been more than a year ago, in prison. What lay beneath this reversion? However, that question could wait. Slaine should not be left alone in this state, Inaho knew that now. He had to close the distance.

  * ••



Slaine’s breath came hard and fast as he darted across the mountainscape. The collar burned heavy and tight around his throat, a noose made of metal and pain.

He knew he should slow down. Stop and wait. Turn around and go back to Inaho.

He kept running.

They had _kissed_ –

No.

He would not think on that. He would not repeat, over and over in his mind, the poisoned syrupy words that had dripped from Inaho’s lips. Inaho’s soft, warm, gentle lips, as warm as blood but even sweeter… Inaho’s fingers combing sweetly through his hair… Inaho’s strong, steady arms holding him close…

 _No! Don’t think of it, don’t think of **him**_ –

Beneath his foot, a stone turned. He tumbled down the rest of the slope in a cascade of gravel-sharp stone. A boulder finally stopped his fall, knocking the breath out of him. Shakily, he got to his knees. His palm stung. Looking at it, he saw a deep, fresh scrape, smeared blood dark against his skin. As he watched, it faded away.

“Why am I like this?” Slaine whispered. He pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes until blurry splotches of color blazed inside his eyelids. His throat was too tight to breathe, it just came out in ragged gasps that hurt with each one his heaving lungs drew–

He staggered back to his feet, teeth gritted so tightly they creaked. Pathetic. Dashing the tears from his eyes, he pressed onwards. The path was simple, easy to follow, no need for a map at this point. Lucky. He’d have been bound to Inaho and that map if there were no clear trail.

A dry, half-choked laugh cracked through his lips. What he was doing– running, on wild reckless impulse, away– was grounds for execution on sight if a Protector found him. But Inaho would never speak of this to anyone. Inaho likely cared less about this breach of their agreement than he did about being forced to miss sleep.

What a perfect little hell.

 _Crack_. A pebble hitting a larger stone. Slaine whipped around to face the noise. The foreboding mounted, suddenly, rising to a scream–

He blocked the blow from behind with his arm, feeling it rattle through his frame. There was another one in front of him, and behind, and at either side. Surrounded. So fast, so silent, fangs gleaming in the moonlight as they leered–

Vampires.

Slaine felt the absence of a weapon at his hip acutely. He turned in a slow circle, attempting to keep his eyes on as many of the attackers as possible. A wall of hungry grins met him.

“All alone– not quite what milord said, but makes it easier for us doesn’t it?” one of them tittered. Jeers of agreement rose from the circle. Slaine lowered his stance, planting his feet.

One lunged for his arm. He sent them flying into their comrade across the circle. Another made a pass at him from behind, dagger drawn. He ducked low, delivering a hard one-two punch to the stomach that knocked them back.

“The mutt is fighting back!” one of them exclaimed with great excitement.

“It even has a pretty little collar! What an obedient dog!”

Slaine gritted his teeth. He deflected attack after attack, even picking up a short sword in the process, but–

They were toying with him. He knew it. Even the ones he had already taken out were merely waiting in the wings, cheering eagerly along with the crowd as their wounds healed. In a serious attack, they would come at him all at once and tear him apart in seconds.

He could only wait until they decided they had had their fun. Setting his jaw grimly, he kept on blocking and nipping away at them. Their laughter echoed around the mountainsides, so many crows cawing and screeching.

Then–

“Enough! We need to get back to milord, and find the other one.”

The circle contracted on him. He struck out, feeling blade meet bone, landing a vicious kick in one soft midriff and slamming his elbow into another leering vampire’s face.

A hand closed like a steel vise on his arm, twisting until he cried out and dropped his weapon. The punch he threw with his free arm was caught, and his arms bent behind his back. A wild kick caught one in the knee, before they forced him to the ground. One’s hand closed around his throat from behind, squeezing just tight enough to cut into his air supply.

Pinned, helpless, he finally closed his eyes and went limp in the vampires’ grip.

Of course he wasn’t free. He had never been. He never would be.

“Got this one. Back to base!”

  * ••



Inaho slid haphazardly down the stony slope. He found no signs of Slaine even after scanning the scattered gravel at the bottom. He swore under his breath. It was not often that he wished for more vampiric traits, but at this moment a vampire’s enhanced senses would have been very useful.

The moon was sinking in the sky, sketching long black shadows over the jagged rock faces. Inaho picked his way over the landscape as swiftly as he was able to without risking a fall. Who knew how much of a lead Slaine had gotten on him. Emotional instability aside, it was dangerous to travel alone in these mountains. Slaine would be more likely to survive a fall than he was, but human or vampire, a broken neck was a broken neck.

As he went onwards, the winds rose. Clouds were beginning to spread across the sky, teasing over the lowered moon.

He turned his eye to the rocks that rose around the trail. Stone, sky, wind… nothing unusual. His steps slowed, then stopped. His hand went to his dagger. Around him, the shadows rose and took form.

Vampires. At least a dozen of them. Fangs bared hungrily.

“And here’s the dog’s owner!” trilled one. “Both in one night! Milord will be pleased.”

Inaho scanned the crowd. He noted the mention of someone who could only be Slaine. Calculated his odds.

And put down his weapon.

  * ••



The journey through the dark and cold was rough, slung over the shoulder of a careless vampire who seemed to enjoy jostling him.

Their progress was swift, however. By the time dawn tinged the skyline blue the old outpost loomed above them. It did not appear abandoned– on the contrary, it was in excellent repair for something that had been abandoned for hundreds of years. Inaho stayed quiet, observing.

The gates opened before them. Vampires, dozens of them, cheering from the ledges and balconies and windows. Inaho felt his heart thump against his ribs.

He was carried through the wild throng and down, down. Eventually, his captors stopped. In front of them lay a metal hatch, which they opened with casual ease. They threw him into the pit beneath carelessly. Only his instinct to curl into a defensive ball saved him a broken ankle or wrist. Instead, he rolled against the far side and fell back, into the heavy layers of dust and filth at the bottom. Laughter echoed above him as the lid was hauled back into place.

“Enjoy your stay, O Azrael!”

Darkness closed over him. Slowly, he raised his hand before his face– and saw nothing. He took a deep breath. Handbreadth by handbreadth he worked his way to the side, fingertips catching on cracks and bumps in the ground. At the wall, the crumbly roughness continued. The sides of the pit weren’t smooth at all. Climbable?

He ran his hands over the surface until he found a crevasse large enough to curl his fingers into. Cautiously, he put weight on it. Small fragments gave way, but it held. He placed a foot in another solid gap, and lifted himself off the ground.

Making headway up the wall in the dark was a… unique challenge. Unable to see hand or footholds, he had to instead feel carefully for them, hanging from the wall by one hand or one foot as he searched.

His hand hit something, above him. He went very still. By touch, it wasn’t the same material as the wall– the cover, then? He pushed up.

It didn’t give.

He pushed harder.

Nothing.

He threw himself into it, thrusting upwards–

One of his footholds disintegrated, sending his leg dangling uselessly over empty air. He scrabbled wildly at the wall, fingers clawing for a hold–

It slipped away. His grasping hands closed on air as he fell back.

The fall was shorter than it had been even when they threw him in here. He still hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind from him and jar every bone in his body. He gasped for breath, inhaling a lungful of grit and dirt. Coughing, he gagged on the bitter filth, spitting to clear the foul taste from his tongue.

So. Escape was unlikely. Obviously, Slaine was not here. Whatever the vampires wanted with him, it required him alive– he was being kept for something. Otherwise, he would have been dead back on the trail.

Now, it was waiting game.

  * ••



The chains that held his arms up clinked as Slaine tested them. They did not give. He swallowed and leaned his head back against the wall.

They hadn’t killed him. Of course not. They wouldn’t want it to end quickly.

He knew this room. Not this specific room, with its worn stones and low, flickering torchlight. But he recognized what it _was_. The rack of pegs on the wall over a long table. The manacles that suspended him like this, just barely able to put his weight on the ground. The drain in the middle of the floor.

If they wanted something from him, he’d make them fight for it.

At last, footsteps echoed in the corridor. Slaine bared his fangs in a snarl.

“Troyard. Not enjoying my hospitality?”

“Klancain,” Slaine hissed.

Klancain smiled. “Is that all you have to say? Are you certain you don’t want to make some grandiose speech?”

“What could I say that you would listen to? I know what you’re here for.” Slaine jerked his head. “Get on with it. Fair warning, though– you won’t get _anything_ from me.”

Klancain’s smile widened. “Oh dear. You appear to think that you– you!– would somehow have access to information that I, the Prince of Vers, do not. How ignorant you truly are! Are you so naive as to think that it was mere coincidence that the Protectorate gave you a mission that led you right into my hands?” Slaine’s eyes widened with realization. Klancain laughed. “No, no, I want nothing from the mutt who stole my father’s blood. However…” he stepped forwards. “I am a reasonably patient man. Alas, the time that I have for the little show I wish to put on is… limited.” His ice-shard eyes gleamed in the firelight. “Let’s not fall behind schedule.”

From behind him, several vampires emerged. The implements they carried gleamed menacingly in the darkness. Slaine’s eyes widened. Instinctually, he jerked at the chains, setting off a jarring clatter of metal-on-metal.

A lackey appeared in front of him, gleeful grin drawn sharply upon her face, knife ready in her hand. He flinched away, back hitting the cold stone behind him. She moved, too fast to see anything but a blur– and his clothing hung off him in shreds.

“You know the routine, I believe,” Klancain said brightly. “Only– they won’t be pausing to ask any questions. Oh, and please do struggle– it will weaken you faster!”

Klancain’s laughter echoed around the tiny room as the torturers closed in.

  * ••



At first, he felt each cut, hooks and knives and spikes driving into his flesh, draining away a little more of his life each strike. But then… it began to blur. Was it the fifth time that knife had pierced his side? The fiftieth? Was that crunching the sound of his bones warping back into place, or the flail striking them?

“hurts…” he wheezed.

A hand twisted painfully in his hair, yanking his head upright. “Oh yes, it hurts does it?” Slaine’s eyes refused to focus. All he could see was a fanged, leering grin, gleaming white. “You’ll see how bad we can make it hurt by the time we’re through with you!” The torturer slammed his head back against the wall, cracking his skull painfully against the brick. The world pitched sideways, and then went black.

The next thing he was aware of was excruciating, obliterating pain. Screams tore from his throat like rats struggling to claw their way out. The stench of burning flesh filled the air, clogging his throat. He writhed, body jerking and contorting, as the white-hot star of agony burned in his gut. Laughter rang in his ears, undercut by the sizzling of his own flesh as the burning brand twisted in his belly.

The thick, grisly sound of it pulling out of him made his head swim. He breathed high and fast, clinging to his consciousness as he felt his insides knitting back together. His throat burned, veins crying for replenishing. The chains rattled as he shook.

The blur swallowed him again. Thirst slowly took a hold of him, thoughts twisting, muscles twitching.

This is it, he thought in a rare moment of clarity as one of his tormentors turned a silver blade over in her hands. I’m going to go feral, and be put down like a mad dog for their amusement.

“Lift his legs.” The torturer’s voice filtered down to him, as though through water. “I’ve got some slices I want to cut.” He felt hands on his thighs, lifting them off the ground, spreading them. Maybe he whimpered a protest. Maybe he didn’t. All he could feel was the icy blade slicing through his skin, once, twice, cutting deep into the artery. Blood ran hot down his legs. He opened his mouth, panting, fangs pricking his tongue.

Deep inside him, the thirst broke free. He closed his eyes and surrendered.

  * ••



Inaho alternated between pacing a circle around the pit and leaning against the side. Down there in the darkness, time was something only tracked by the beat of his heart. Food– some kind of dry, hard biscuit– was thrown down at intervals, and even the dim light coming through the opened hatch was enough to hurt his eye.

Had he been here for hours? Days? Weeks?

He had no way to tell. Even the food did not seem to come regularly. Just whenever it occurred to them to feed him.

There was no hole or grate to relieve himself in. Whenever sleep overcame him, he could only check the ground blindly with his hands, hoping it was clean.

But then, at last– a sound from above, in the darkness. Inaho started up from his curl in the least filthy part of the pit. The lid scraped open, and he shut his eye against the light coming through. He pressed himself against the wall as something fell through the hole, followed by something much larger. Hands grabbed him roughly. He kicked out blindly, only to be slammed against the wall and then slung, dazed, over a shoulder.

As he was carried up and up, he dared crack open his eye. With the dim light less blinding now, he could just barely see the stones and halls as they passed by. Sound rose above through the levels of the fortress, a dull roar that shook through the stones.

That roar became louder and louder– until they stopped before a door. The door swung open, and–

It was an arena. Even squinting against the bright light of day, Inaho could see that. Stands rising in a massive oval from the dirt floor beneath, filled with cheering spectators. Hundreds of vampires. Inaho quickly assessed the distances between the terraces, the height of the lip– and felt his heart sink in his chest. There was no easy escape here, not for him and his enhanced-but-still-human limbs. The door thundered shut behind him.

His captors carried him across the arena and threw him down, chittering with excitement as they leapt up into the stands. He struggled upright, holding a dirty sleeve in front of his face to protect his eye from the dust.

Suddenly, the crowd hushed. Inaho looked up.

There. On the balcony. The railing wasn’t made of stone, as the rest of the place was. It looked like metal. New, freshly installed metal. Up behind it walked– Klancain.

“Welcome one and all, the truest people of Vers!” he called. “Today, I have gathered you all here together for a truly special moment. At the terrible, tragic end of the war more than a year ago, we were forced into submission by our own Queen”– the throng broke out into harsh jeers and indistinct but fury-filled shouts. Klancain waved them down. “We were,” he continued, “forced to submit to those weaker than us. Those we should rightfully rule over with our Aldnoah-given powers. Those who should be grateful that we deign to sustain our lives off of their paltry substance!” The crowd screamed, a wall of sound pushing through the air and crushing Inaho beneath its weight. “Before us, we have the prime example of their arrogance and hubris, the one who did not merely defy our power but flaunted that defiance in the face of our superiority– the so-called Azrael, angel of death!”

The earth shuddered with the stamping and booing of the crowd. Inaho went still. He was… a show. But how?

“On this day, you will see the truest of justice served to this, the most vain of humans. Its own dog shall tear it apart!” The crowd gasped.

Inaho’s eye widened. _No_.

“An unnatural mutt, a mockery of what a true vampire is, overtaken by animal hunger and brutish instinct.” Klancain flourished a hand. “This abomination even warmed the bed of its human captor. Miscegenation upon miscegenation! A race traitor and a disgrace to us, the true inheritors of Aldnoah. Now, oh Azrael”– Klancain smiled, slow and broad, as a gate on the other side of the arena began to rise– “I hope you have trained your dog well. Bloodlust is a terrible, terrible mistress.”

The gate shuddered to a halt. Inaho watched, transfixed, as _something_ moved in the shadows.

 _No. No, it can’t be, there hasn’t been enough time for Slaine to go feral_ –

A head of white-gold hair wavered into view.

  * ••



Sun, sun, too bright, eyes burning–

He hit the ground, curling into himself. So many scents, snow stone wind dust wood vampire vampire _vampire_ –

Human.

His head shot up. Pulse thundering in his ears, he sprang to his feet. The pain of the half-healed wounds riddling his body faded away as the thirst rose up in a hissing white mist. His throat burned. He prowled forward, moving purposefully, eyes fixed on the prey. Even from this far, he could smell the blood, fresh and pulsing, hear the heartbeat fast and frantic–

_No!_

A snap of resistance surged through him, and for a second he fought down the feral bloodlust. His knees hit the dirt with a _thud_. That was Inaho, Inaho there, whole and safe despite the vampires–

The thirst drove him to his feet again. Rich coppery blood, so close, ready for the taking from the fragile human vessel. He staggered towards the source of those delicious enticing smells. Blood. Life. Relief.

The target had not fled yet. Was remaining motionless. Frozen with fear? The scent of it was in the air, mixing headily with the scents of blood and sweat and flesh.

“Slaine?” the human said in a low, trembling voice.

He lunged.

The target dodged, faster than he had expected. He slammed into the wall with a snarl, and whirled around. The human retreated. He gave chase.

Up and down the arena, around scattered wreckages of stone and wood, along the walls and over the dirt they danced the deadly dance of hunter and prey. Venom dripped down his chin, fangs pricking at his lips.

Then–

The human stumbled. He watched, time slowing to a crawl, as it lost its footing and fell, hard, to the stones. Moving with unnatural speed, he pounced–

A cry tore from his throat, desperate and anguished. Slaine tore out of the momentum of the jump, crashing to the ground just short of–

Inaho. Inaho’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his one eye wide with terror.

That fear– of _him_ , of the monster he really was– hit Slaine like a blow to the chest with a hammer. The thirst pulsed through him again, burning at his wounds, his weak limbs, his parched throat. He moaned, hunching over. The wave of agony receded gradually. In its wake, he felt dampness rolling down his cheeks. A sob wrenched its way through him, leaving him shaking.

“…Slaine?” Inaho’s voice was full of wariness, but also a strange, aching hope.

“Go,” Slaine forced out. He wrapped his arms around his chest, curling his fingers into his bony shoulders. “Kill me before I… before I kill you.”

“Slaine,” Inaho breathed. Something in his voice made Slaine look up. Inaho was still there, sitting up from his sprawl against the dirt. Inaho held out one hand, palm open and trembling. “I’m not going to kill you. I wasn’t lying, when I said I am not afraid of you. I know you. I trust you.”

Slaine shook his head, more pathetic tears rolling down his cheeks. _What kind of monster cries for itself?_ “No, no, you don’t understand, any second I could attack”–

“You won’t. I know you. I trust you,” Inaho repeated. “You won’t hurt me. Come here.”

“I can’t”–

“Let me help you.” Inaho’s voice held a note Slaine had never heard from him before– a note akin to desperation. “Take my blood. You need it.”

“But it’s not safe– I’m dangerous, feral”–

“You were about to attack me, but stopped yourself. Isn’t that enough proof?”

“I won’t”– Slaine’s breath hitched, throat dry and tight, words catching and dying until he managed to choke out– “I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Then I can stop you. Trust me. I trust you, Slaine,” he said again, and the way Inaho’s voice curled around his name– soft, warm– shuddered up his spine.

“I’m a monster,” Slaine whispered. “I live on stolen time. I should be dead, many times over. Please…”

“Slaine.” Slaine’s eyes fluttered shut for an instant as Inaho’s warm, liquid voice ran through him. Inaho held out both hands now, beckoning, welcoming. “Please. Come to me.”

Slaine hovered. Wavered. Waves battered him, waves of need, and pain, and thirst, and longing…

With one staggering step forward, he closed the distance and fell, willingly, into Inaho’s waiting arms.

  * ••



Inaho cradled Slaine close, breathing in the smell of his sweat and pain, feeling the minute trembling in his muscles. There was fresh blood on his clothes. Raised scabs and fresh scars crisscrossed his pale skin. A draining. The torture method that even the Protectorate’s torturers rarely used. He held Slaine tighter with one hand. With the other, he undid his collar and pulled it down.

Veins in the throat, blood pumping swift and hard. Hopefully it would be enough.

“Slaine.”

Slaine let out a whimper in response, pressing his face into Inaho’s shoulder. Distantly, Inaho noted the rising sounds of consternation from the crowd. But it all seemed so… unimportant. Everything else faded away beneath Slaine’s delicate weight in his arms.

“Slaine. Drink from me. You aren’t a monster. Doing what you need to survive doesn’t make you one.”

Slaine lifted his head, eyes wide. “But– from your neck– I can’t”–

“You need my blood fast. And…” Inaho closed his eye and swallowed. “If it’s you, I don’t mind it.”

Slaine’s hand came up to cup his cheek. “Inaho…”

He leaned into the touch, nuzzling Slaine’s palm. Then, he tilted his head back, exposing his throat. “It’s alright.”

Slaine shuddered again, closing his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I have never been more certain of anything in my life. Take my blood, Slaine. Live.”

Slaine’s eyes fluttered open, gaze heavy and sad and pained and brimming with broken-winged hope. For a long moment, their gazes held. In that second, nothing else mattered. No jeering crowds, no glowering generals, no scheming prince.

Inaho reached up, taking the silver collar between his fingers. The ring of raw, irritated skin beneath showed painfully in the sunlight. It felt effortless, to twist it. The hinges snapped, no more than kindling beneath his grip.

With a soft _clang_ that rang in Inaho’s ears like the peal of a bell, the collar fell to the dirt.

Slaine gasped, tears welling over and leaving fresh tracks through the dust and blood on his cheeks. He closed his eyes again, shoulders heaving with a shuddering breath. Then, he leaned in, lowering his mouth to Inaho’s scarred skin. His damp breath feathered over the column of Inaho’s throat. His lips, cracked and dry, came down in a soft kiss over Inaho’s thudding pulse point. Slaine’s mouth closed over his neck, fangs pricking needle-sharp. With utmost care and gentleness, Slaine sank those fangs into him.

The Aldnoah hit almost instantaneously, rushing through his limbs weak from days of deprivation. He gasped, cupping the back of Slaine’s head in his hand. Little rivulets of warmth spilled through him, emanating out from the place where Slaine’s hot, sweet mouth and tongue lapped at his pulse point. Noises of mindless pleasure and relief rose from Slaine, each one settling melodiously in Inaho’s chest.

The subtle tugging sensation in his veins meant nothing. The twin pinpricks of sharp pain were meaningless. Nothing, when his heart felt so full. He could see the wounds fading from Slaine’s skin, feel their heartbeats slowing into the same steady rate. Somehow, in the center of a nest of vampires, with a vampire’s fangs deep in his throat, he felt safer than he had since he was a tiny child.

Stroking Slaine’s hair, he felt it. Connected, their hearts beating in time. No words were needed. They simply… were.

After what could have been minutes, or an age, Slaine pulled away. He gave one last tender lick across the bite marks.

Inaho let go a deep sigh, the suspended moment falling away. “Are you alright?”

Slaine’s face was flushed a delicate pink. “I– better than I have ever been…” he said, voice wondering, eyes hazy and mouth hanging open slightly. There was a small smudge of blood– Inaho’s blood- at the corner of his mouth.

Inaho leaned in and kissed it away. “Wonderful.”

Slaine flushed deeper. “Now is not the time!” It was true. The crowd’s shouts of confusion and anger were getting louder. Vampires advanced through the stands, rage boiling up from them in an ominous cloud.

“You’re right. Those terraces– can you make that jump?”

Slaine stared at him. “How will we– we’re exhausted, we have no supplies”–

“Can you make it?”

Slaine swallowed and nodded.

“Can you carry me?”

Determination began to suffuse Slaine’s expression. “Yes.”

“Alright, then. Let’s surprise them.”

A grin spread across Slaine’s face. “Let’s.”

They turned to face the sky. Together, they leaped.

 

 ••• 

_Reaching for the impossible_

_They create miracles_

 •••

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, here is the end of my fanbook entry at last! However, it isn't the last of this fic there will be– coming down the pipeline is an extra bonus chapter!
> 
> Remember to join us on the 18th~


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